here we go.

It's hard to believe that it was only three weeks ago that I last posted. It feels more like three months ago. June has been a time warp. I'm pretty sure I just over-dosed our dog on her heart worm medication because I was convinced it had been at least six weeks since I last gave it to her. In reality, it's only been half that time.

What's even harder to believe, though, is that tomorrow we start our long journey to get our son in China. It has been a long road and it feels surreal to be so close to meeting him for the first time. It's almost too much to wrap my mind and heart around.

I think I have cycled through every possible emotion over the past few days: doubt, fear, excitement, elation, strength, weakness, boldness, sorrow, panic, peace, shock. Most of this just results in a lot of tears because I don't know how to hold all of this emotion simultaneously. Waterworks, for real.

Overall, I've felt pensive. So many thoughts and feelings, but the words have been hard to come by. We got our travel approval eight days ago and it's just now that I've felt capable of putting any words down. The quiet, detached, brooding Lib has shown up a lot over the past few days. She's the same girl that used to show up at track meets right before my event was called, right before it was time to run as fast as I could towards the finish line.

Today is our last day as a family of four. I've been trying to soak in these last moments with the girls before leaving them tomorrow for about two-and-a-half weeks. I've never left them for that long and the momma-bear in me has a hard time letting go. Last night, Chris said, "Babe, it's like you're going into labor, only the hospital is in China and you won't be home for almost three weeks." I can't say I've ever had a labor experience like this before, and I'm pretty sure there's no epidural for what lies ahead.

Yet despite the fear and insecurities that show up on a regular basis, I am SO ready to do this. My heart is full of excitement. I am ready for this. I am ready to go get our boy. BRING. IT. ON.

In church last Sunday morning we watched this movie put out by The Gospel Project. The movie depicts the grand narrative of the Bible as one story, the story of redemption through Jesus. This three-minute video has been floating around in my mind all week, and each time I think of it, I get so pumped up. It reminds me of how our journey to get Ren has been a powerful manifestation of the gospel story in my own life. It's been a story of light shining into darkness, a story of awakening, a story of fighting against so many lies that tell me I can't or shouldn't have embarked on this journey. It's been a story of love and freedom and hope. It's a story of a grand adventure with my God, the master Story Teller, and this is just the beginning. I feel so grateful to be a part of it all.

We leave at 7am tomorrow morning. The first leg is dropping off the girls with my parents. Then we fly back to SFO, then to Beijing, and then from Beijing to Zhengzhou, the capital of Henan province, where Ren is (in red).

We will meet Ren for the first time on Monday, June 2! We will meet him at the civil affairs office in Zhengzhou and we will get to keep him with us for the remainder of the trip. We will be in Zhengzhou for the rest of next week, and then we fly south to Guangzhou (next to Hong Kong), where we will apply for his US Visa (the US Consulate is in Guangzhou). On the way home, we will take a bus from Guangzhou to Hong Kong, then fly out of Hong Kong to Tokyo, then Tokyo to SFO. We will be back in the US with our son, Lord willing, on July 14th!

His crib is an arm's reach from my side of the bed. It's all made up and ready to go for our big R! It's crazy to think that his sweet body will by lying there soon enough. I can hardly believe this is all happening!

Thank you all SO MUCH for your love, support, encouragement, and prayers. A MASSIVE thanks to my parents--this would not be possible without you both! Thanks to all of our friends and family who have consistently uplifted us with encouraging words and prayer over the past year and a half. We love you and we are so grateful for you! We covet your continued prayers over the next few weeks.

when it counts

Wow. Well, life is getting pretty intense around here. Things are changing and happening so quickly, which I am grateful for. After existing in a place that has felt like purgatory for a long time, I'm so thankful that the wheels are finally turning faster on this journey towards our son. We aren't out of the woods yet, but we are starting to make out the faint edges of our destination on the hazy horizon. We are embarking down the final stretch of this journey, and despite the fatigue, our legs are carrying us faster in anticipation of the finish line. In Dr. Seuss terms, we are preparing to depart from the dreaded "Waiting Place." Praise God, for real. We can't wait to experience what He has in store for us on the other side of this terminal.

So, here's the latest. We got an email a few days ago from the U.S. Consulate in Guangzhou, China, notifying us that our Article 5 (another big bunch of paperwork) had already been processed and was being sent on to the CCCWA (China Center for Children's Welfare and Adoption), which is the LAST LINE OF APPROVAL! If everything goes as anticipated, the CCCWA should issue our travel approval sometime within the next couple weeks, and then we will travel to China about three weeks after that. According to this timeline (which our agency assures us is pretty reliable), we will be departing for China sometime in early-mid July!

We are getting so excited and already making preparations for travel. I have a million to-do lists scribbled in my steno pad. I am buying boy clothes and have already started a suitcase for Ren boy. (So far the clothing theme seems to be "surfer dude"...I found him some dope Hurley duds!) I'm setting our travel paperwork aside in its own folder and I'm going to get my immunizations for China later this week. I got Chris and I a new pair of summery closed-toe walking shoes, as flip-flops aren't very culturally appropriate in China. I also ordered a brand new ERGO to carry Ren around in...and get this...so cool...within an hour of it arriving on my door step...my neighbor and dear friend Jami came by my house to bring me hers...she doesn't need it anymore! So, I returned the one I ordered and got my $$$ back. Every little bit helps and sweet gifts such as these mean a lot!

Lucy and I decided to try it out on a walk to the park...we loved it.

I also FINALLY got our travel visas for China after multiple trips to the Chinese Consulate in downtown San Francisco. The second trip there was not without drama, as my car got broken into that morning...the whole passenger window smashed to smithereens.

They only took my $5 iPhone charger...

and whatever money we saved by not hiring a courier was negated...and then some...from damages.

oh well...you win some...you lose some...

and thankfully it was perfect weather for driving home with the windows open. 

I've never been so happy to leave SF in my life!

We also had our travel call with our family care coordinator at our agency on Monday, who briefed us on what "Gotcha Day" will probably look like and how to be prepared. She spent a lot of time discussing what this massive transition will be like for Warren and described this whole ordeal from his perspective. We know that as elated as we are to see him, he may not feel the same way about us, and she talked through how to handle all of that. As she was talking to us about what it might be like, I started imagining the scene in my mind and my eyes started to well up. To be honest, I've pictured that scene a million times in my head already, and every single time it chokes me up, but something about hearing someone else describe it really got me. I'm going to be a mess! It's going to be intense. It's going to be awesome.

I have a lot of doubts and fears. I hope I will respond in the best way possible and do everything I can in those critical moments to show our son love and tenderness while allowing him to feel all that he is feeling. He will have had to say goodbye to his foster mom already, as they move the foster children back into the orphanage about a week or two before their adoptive family comes to get them. He will be grieving that loss and change, only to be hurled into another massive transition when they hand him over to us crazy white people who speak funny and smell weird and keep trying to give him candy. My heart hurts as I ponder what might be going through his little mind amidst all of the scary transitions.

All of this kind of reminds me of when I was a nurse, taking ACLS and BLS classes, studying over and over how to respond when someones's life is on the line. You memorize the numerous algorithms--the drugs and doses and procedures for how to resuscitate someone--but you always wonder if you'll remember it when it really counts. Will you remember to open the airway before you start giving rescue breaths? Will you remember which medication corresponds to which arrhythmia and how many minutes apart to administer it? Will you freeze up or will you be able to apply the training to a real life situation? I've been reading and learning about all the text-book rules for encouraring attachment with Ren, but will these translate to reality--in the chaotic moments when it really matters?

The good thing is I know I don't need to be perfect, and I know that this is going to be a journey (aka: a ginormous learning process) for all of us. I know there is help along the way when we need it--praise God--because I know I'm going to need it. A massive thanks to you guys for reading and supporting us and praying for us. Please pray that our travel approval comes promptly...and in God's perfect timing...because if I've learned anything from this whole endeavor, it's that His timing really is perfect...in ways I can't even begin to describe.

a tree in a story about a forest

Several weeks ago I said that I wanted to spend some time talking about books that have meant something to me over the past few years. I thought I'd continue that discussion today.

It's difficult for me to do really thorough book reviews, because when it comes to books that I love, it's hard to know where to stop. I could probably talk for days on end about all the ideas, thoughts, and dreams that get stirred up inside of me when I read a book that I love. One little blog post is insufficient to relay what a particular book means to me, because I think that a good book becomes a very personal thing and intersects with some deep emotional places within us.

Anyhow, moving on with my insufficient blog post. The book I want to talk about is A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. I've actually written a post about this book before, a few years ago, closer to the time when the book was released. But the other night I couldn't get to sleep and the book was flashing at me like a strobe light from the dark book shelf. So I picked it up and started to read it again.

A friend of mine once said that you know what your favorite book is by the number of times you've read it. I think this is true. My favorite books are those that never get old no matter how many times I've read them. They become new each time and I connect with the characters or the message in new ways, depending on what's going on inside of me. So, I suppose this book by Donald Miller should be added to my favorites list, right along with Family Happiness by Tolstoy and East of Eden by Steinbeck.

The first time I read this book, I was about eight months pregnant with Lucy. I read it in bed as I felt her perform gymnastics inside of me. I think it got her excited too. I was so pumped up about the premise of the book--the idea of "living a good story"--and I was excited about how this book converged with so many things I'd been studying in my MFA program. The book planted a big seed inside of me...a seed that started to germinate about a year and a half ago when we started the adoption process.

I picked the book up for the second time when Chris and I were fervently praying about adopting. The words in this book were the push I needed to start the process when we did. It inspired me and told me it was okay to be afraid. It reminded me that if we wait for the perfect time to start living a good story, we never will. So we jumped in with both feet, hoping and praying that God, the Author, would work out the kinks in timing. Suddenly I felt like Chris and I were making an intentional and calculated move to live a better story and this was exciting. Something deep inside of me that had been dormant for a long time--perhaps forever--had opened it's eyes and started to see clearly.

And now, here we are, only about 6 weeks away (Lord willing) from getting our little guy, and I'm re-reading this book again. The adoption journey has been it's own story, one that is just beginning in so many ways. I think I understand words like "process" and "waiting" and "patience" and "trust" better now than I did a year ago, and I also better understand what Donald Miller means when he writes that "you become the character in the story you are living, and whatever you were is gone." I'm starting to wrap my mind around the idea that it's not necessarily about the conclusion, but how the character is changed by the story at hand, and I can see a lot of ways that this story is changing me.

I read a part of the book earlier today that really hit me, so I wanted to spend some time talking about it. It's so in line with so much that I've learned just in the past month so it got me really psyched when I read it. Donald Miller writes (paraphrased),

I was a tree in a story about a forest and it was arrogant of me to believe any differently...and the story of the forest is better than the story of the tree...and I asked God to help me understand the story of the forest and what it meant to be a tree in that story.

I mentioned in a recent post that I had the opportunity to speak at Celebrate Recovery several weeks ago. I was so scared. I seriously thought I was going to hyperventilate before getting up on stage. But one thing I kept telling myself as I sat in that chair in the auditorium, my hands sweaty and my heart palpitating, was that this is not about me. My sponsor kept telling me that too. "This isn't about you," she'd say. And I knew it was true. It was about God and the story He was telling through my life, and it was just my job to put it into words and to speak those words into a microphone so that other people in that dark sanctuary could hear about it. It wasn't my job to know how my words might impact the story that God was telling through other people or to worry about whether or not my story was important enough to be told. It's kind of my story because I'm living it, but ultimately, it's not about me.

This thought did help me push through my fear of public speaking. It silenced the voices in my head that tell me my story isn't extreme or important enough to be told. When I could view my life as a small chapter or sub plot in the epic, eternal tale that God is writing, then it freed me from caring so much about what people thought of my story or what judgements they'd make on me. It really took a lot of the burden off and made me excited to share about what God had written in my life so far. It allowed me to take myself seriously enough to speak, but not so seriously that I'd buckle up in fear. It made me want to speak so that I could bring Him praise, and I am learning that life is so much more meaningful when it becomes about Him--when it stops becoming about striving to bring myself praise for a story that's not really mine anyhow.

I read this verse the other day:

"Therefore by Him let us continually offer the sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to His name. But do not forget to do good and to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased." Heb 13:15-16

How is praise a sacrifice? I thought about it. It felt like a sacrifice to get up on stage that night and praise His name. I feel like it should be easy to praise God in front of other people, but it was hard. I was nervous about it all week. I didn't sleep well and I spent a lot of time preparing and praying about what I wanted to share. It feels like a sacrifice to write on this blog sometimes, putting things out there for the faceless and nameless public to read. But regardless of comments or site-meters or popularity, something inside of me keeps spurring me on to share my life and my story with other people, even if it's just in this quiet corner of the blogosphere. It's not always up to me to control who hears...just that I keep offering the praise, the fruit of my lips.

I guess He's created us all to bring Him praise in different ways...sometimes we speak this praise, sometimes we write it, sometimes we sing it or play it on an instrument. Sometimes we run it, sometimes we draw it, sometimes we cry it, you fill in the blank. We live it in the stories He's writing for us and it's vital that we share it in the way He's designed us to.

Overall, I think that incredible things happen when we are open to sharing our tree stories with the other trees around us, because this gives us a deeper understanding of the forest story and how our tree fits into the forest.

Tess came home from preschool a while ago saying, "Sharing is Caring." How true that is. Sharing is caring...and sharing is sacrificial and scary too...and sharing gives our lives meaning.

I'll conclude with the words of the brilliant Mary Oliver:

"I don't want to live a small life. Open your eyes, open your hands."

***

What are some of your favorite books?
How does your tree fit into the forest story?
How is praise a sacrifice for you?
How do you share your story with others?

sultry summer.

I made a new playlist the other week. It's called Sultry Summer. The title just kind of came to me. The mix has been playing on my iPod almost constantly. One of the songs on the playlist is "It's Time to Move On" by Tom Petty; track three from the album Wildflowers.

It's time to move on

It's time to get goin'

What lies ahead

I have no way of knowin'

but under my feet, babe

the grass is growin'

yeah it's time to move on...

Story of my life. I remember first listening to the song as I rode along I-26 on the bus ride home from our 8th grade school trip to Seabrook Island, SC. I was fourteen years old. It was the end of the school year, the end of my first year back in America, and I was about to switch schools again...I was about to start high school.

It's funny, the things we remember, isn't it? I've carried that moment on the bus with me me all these years. The song always triggers that memory. It signifies the sultry heat and salty tears associated with saying goodbye. The folky tune is what I imagine change sounds like.

***

Historically, summer has meant a lot change for me, and this summer is no different. It seemed that the big moves my family made often took place during the summertime. When we lived oversees in England, we'd come back to the States for the summer, and for those six weeks back in my passport country, I was struck each time with how much I was growing and changing apart from it. Each time I returned, the harder it was to identify with my native land. Going back to England at the summer's end felt more like home...and yet it wasn't quite home either.

The end of the school year in also England meant saying goodbye to friends forever--not just for the summer break. Friends who were from Sweden or Japan or South Africa were going back to their native countries, or perhaps onto another foreign land, and good-bye truly meant good-bye. "See you later" was not in our vocabulary.

When we finally moved back to the States, I transitioned into a tiny private school with a class size of about 32. Most of the kids had gone to that school since kindergarden and they all knew each other. At age 13, I was struggling to fit back into a country where I suddenly felt like an immigrant. I made some friends but I felt that there was this huge part of me that was hidden and isolated. I didn't know how to incorporate my overseas experiences into this new environment. I might as well have been from Mars.

I only stayed at that school for a year. Then I went to a different school for my freshman and sophomore years of high school. Then we moved again to a different city where I finished off junior and senior years. Then I was off to somewhere new for college and then I transferred to another school after freshman year. Then, eventually, I joined the military, go figure, and for the past decade, the cycle has repeated from one time zone to the next to the next.

***

The other night, Chris and I were driving home from Davis. We were talking about relationship stuff and Chris said to me:

"You really have some sort of outsider complex."

Gulp.

I just kind nodded my head and said, "Yeah, I know."

The outsider. That girl who is a part of things and yet still remains apart from things. I suppose I feel like her, standing alone, always with one foot in and one foot out. She sort of belongs...but not quite.

Change has been almost constant for me. Playing the role of "the new girl"and trying to break into pre-established circles of friends that are sometimes rooted deep in years of history is a pattern in my story. It leaves me feeling both motivated and isolated, both challenged and tired of trying. I learned this pattern during a crucial time in my development, and as an adult, I think I've learned to perpetuate it.

I think I'm coming to realize that it's okay to just be me though. Gosh, that sounds cliche, does it not? But in the flux of so much change and transition, I have not known who "me" is. I am slowly starting to figure it out though, and I'm learning that who I am at the core is not determined by which country I happen to live in, which circles of friends I currently run in, or whether or not people understand every aspect of me.

***

A few years ago the term "Third Culture Kid" (TCK) was introduced to me through an essay one of my classmates wrote. A TCK "is someone who has spent a significant period of time in one or more culture(s) other than his or her own, thus integrating elements of those cultures and their own birth culture, into a third culture." These changes typically take place during the highly formative years of childhood/adolescence.

Anyhow, Chris's outsider comment got me thinking about the whole TCK thing again and I started reading a bit more about it. I've been astounded by how much it resonates with my experience. Something I recently read on the subject struck me:

"...one of the major areas in working with TCKs is that of dealing with the issue of unresolved grief. They are always leaving or being left. Relationships are short-lived. At the end of each school year, a certain number of the student body leaves, not just for the summer, but for good...Most TCKs go through more grief experiences by the time they are 20 than monocultural individuals do in a lifetime."

I also read that TCKs "cope" rather than "adjust." We adapt, find niches, take risks, fall and pick ourselves up again...we feel at home everywhere and nowhere...and most of us never truly adjust back to life in America. And then there's that part about how we don't learn problem-solving skills in relationships because we can always simply leave a problem without resolving it. We carry our baggage to the next location and watch it play out in new relationships...until we can leave again. (Ouch.)

The more I come to understand this part of my story, the more I am starting to understand where my identity struggle/outsider complex comes from. This doesn't explain everything, but it does explain some things. I can understand more of why making new friends can be easy and painful at the same time, and why I become detached when I have to say goodbye to people. So many meaningful relationships have been woven in and out of my life so many times...and most of them are only for a season. Sometimes it feels shamefully easy to let go of them...but only because it's so incredibly painful to let go, if that makes sense.

But, despite the growing pains, I am also seeing the beautiful things that God has written into my story as a result of these experiences. The book I was reading through states that "while TCKs are cultural outsiders in their own passport country, 88% can relate to anyone, regardless of differences in race, ethnicity, religion, or nationality. They generally credit their third culture background with positively influencing their adult lives."

I know that my childhood and adolescent experiences burned a passion into my heart to reach beyond the limitations of my native country. There is this energy and drive inside of me that longs to identify with others who know what it means to leave people and places that feel like home and start over in a place that feels foreign. I tend to relate to those who feel like outsiders...who tend to lurk on the fringe. And while I realize that the scenarios of our stories are incredibly different, one name kept coming to mind as I've pondered all of this:

Ren.

When we receive him into our arms he will have to say goodbye to everything he has known. At such a young age he will know profound grief. This will be part of his story.

While I understand that in many ways I cannot possibly know what this is like for him, I can recognize a few ways that I can. I also know that on some deep, guttural level, loving him will perhaps soothe the sense longing and grief that I carry inside of me because of the story God has given me. The further I travel this journey to my son, the more I hear God whisper:


This is your son and I have equipped you to be his mother. I created you to do this.


If things continue to go as planned, we will be in China within two months, sweating in the sultry July humidity, our lives forever changed for the better. I can't wait to be overseas again, and far more, I can't wait to hold my son in my arms.

***

Quotes taken from "According To My Passport, I'm Coming Home" by Kay Branaman Eakin, online at http://www.state.gov/documents/organization/2065.pdf

endings and beginnings

"To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go."

from "In Blackwater Woods" by Mary Oliver

***

I came to the end of my journal yesterday. I have gone through two journals in the past ten months, a new record for me. Writing on the last page of my journal yesterday felt symbolic--it was an image that captures the season of life I am currently walking through--a season of many endings which are quickly bleeding into a wild sea of change and fresh beginnings.

I bought a new journal at Target last week. It is bright pink and spiral bound. This morning was the first time I wrote in it. There's nothing like a new journal, a fresh page to write on, a book full of emptiness waiting expectantly to be filled with words, impressed by pens, and crinkled by fingertips. I wonder what will be written in this new journal. Amidst the clamor and chaos of this morning, feeding and clothing the littles, I only got to write one thing in this new journal, but I believe what I wrote is significant given the upcoming adventures this journal will contain. Exodus 33.14:

"My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest."

Regardless of the changes, uncertainty, and chaos ahead, I hope I am able to cling tightly to my God and find continual rest in His Presence.

***

Endings make my heart full. They are a time to reflect, commemorate, and celebrate. Sometimes it's hard to see growth and progress when you are in the thick of the journey, and I'm thankful for the moments when I can look back on the trail that was often too dark or windy to understand and slowly start to make sense of it. I may not know all of the "why's" but I can see how the girl who started the journey has been molded into a new creation. These moments are a gift and often become pillars of faith to cling to when the road dips into a valley again.

Last night was one such moment for me. I have been involved in a ministry called Celebrate Recovery for about a year now. This has been a trying year for me, one of immense change, soul-searching, and growth. At times I wanted to give up, throw in the towel, and say the whole thing was pointless. But last night I got to stand up on a stage in front of a lot of people and give praise to my God for the supernatural changes He's worked inside of me. There are so many changes and I feel butterflies in my stomach thinking about it all...all the possibilities ahead...all the ways the trials of this year have better equipped me as a mother to Ren and my girls.

But, as I shared up on stage last night, the biggest change I've experienced over the past year is coming to believe more deeply than ever that God loves me. This sounds like a pretty basic thing to believe as a Christian, but I've been a Christian for over fifteen years, and I would say that it's only in the past year that this truth has become alive and real to me.

My friend Tracy shared this quote by Dan Allender on Facebook last week:

"To meditate is to chew something over in your mind until it runs wet and sweet into your heart."

And so I would say that the biggest change over the past year is that I have learned to meditate on God's love for me...His love has been in my mind for years, but has now run wet and sweet into my heart...into my bones...into every breathing cell of my body...and every other positive change in my life is merely a ripple effect of His love.

Coming to know God's love more deeply is setting me free. This belief is so central to everything else. Believing this frees me to trust Him, which in turn frees me to stop trying to control my life and the lives of others. I can give this heavy burden back to the One who was meant to carry it all along, and I can rest in His goodness and His plan. Receiving His love is allowing me (like Mary Oliver says) to love what is mortal...to hold it against my bones...and to let it go when the time comes. This year has been a time of letting go of a lot of things...things and people I was meant to love fiercely but never meant to grasp so tightly...never meant to carry...never meant to try and save. Letting go is sad...at first...but then there is freedom. Last night signified the end of a journey I've been on over the past year...but in many ways I realize that this is only the beginning. In a way, it feels like life is really about to start. My hands are open.

***

"And now, with God's help, I shall become myself."  --Soren Kierkegaard

don't force it.

It's French press Saturday again and the house is silent. Even the washing machine has stopped running and all I hear is the faint hum of the refrigerator, a few birds outside. Ah, yes.

I've been thinking lately about how our lives gradually unravel, like threads in a tightly wound cord. With each slow turn, the threads become a bit loser and begin to separate. Eventually, one can start to see each individual strand and how it fits into the whole.

Or perhaps our lives are more like books that can only be read one paragraph at a time. We cannot skip ahead to read the final outcome. We cannot know how the plot will twist and turn or how our character will be shaped by the events and people that weave in and out of our trajectory. We can only know the part we are reading now, in the moment, and each paragraph gradually alters how will things will play out in the future.

This is how life has felt lately for me. I am an odd one. I like to read books and magazines from back to front, or sometimes I like to plop myself right in the middle and skip around from there. This drives my left-brained, linear-minded husband absolutely mad. But me, I am not so linear. My mind likes to flit and float around, jumping associatively from one topic to the next. It sometimes resists a neat and orderly narrative.

But there is no jumping around in the narrative of my life, no option to read from back to front or to start somewhere in the middle. There is only here and now--there is only the sentence that God is currently constructing, one word at a time, and each word is formed based on the one that preceded it. Sometimes the process feels painstakingly slow. Yet it is in the slowness and stillness that I'm learning to listen to His voice. I'm learning to slow down myself, to trust that He will uphold my character through all of the peaks and valleys, twists and turns ahead. I don't need to rush the story or try to force the action before its due time.

Don't force it. That's what I keep telling myself. I'm aware that I've tried to force many things in my life, and I'm equally aware of how unnecessary it is. I don't need to have it all figured out. I don't need to make decisions before I'm ready to or before I'm required to do so. Wait and trust, wait and trust, I say.

I dropped my last poetry class a few weeks ago. It is the very last class I need before I can begin my thesis. I am so close, yet so far away from finishing this MFA. I knew in my gut that I needed to drop it. I knew that with everything that's going on in our lives right now, I would not be able to get my mind into it. I need to be fully present and engaged in what is happening right now--with God, with myself, with my family, with Ren. I can't do that and school. Besides, if required to write poetry at a time like this, I'm pretty sure my poems would end up sounding a little something like this:

The cat sat
on a mat
and then it
ate a rat.
What do you
think about that?

So, as of now, I'm registered to take my next class this December. I'm thinking that our lives might be a bit more "stable" at that point, but who knows. Most people say that the first year post-adoption is insanity, so I will have to cross that bridge when I get to it. If I don't take the December class, then I'll be dropped from my program and I'll have to reapply again if I want to complete my degree. If this happens, I'll also be required to take three extra classes that weren't required when I originally started the program. And to be honest, I'm okay with all of that. I want to finish this degree...I have come so far...but I am also at peace if for some reason it doesn't work out and I can't finish. I don't want to force it if the timing is not right.

Sometimes other things come along and get in the way of our plans. Sometimes, something big, like Love, gets in the way, and our trajectory is forever altered, our original plans get modified, and who we become is no longer compatible with the dreams we once had. We become different and maybe we learn to dream even bigger dreams than before.

Who knows what lies ahead in my narrative? Only God. Who knows if I'll ever finish this MFA? Only God.

But one thing's for sure.

I'll never stop writing.

strength, redefined.

I was talking with a friend/mentor of mine about strength last week. She is a very intelligent, perceptive, and wise woman, and she was discussing the relationship between strength and rest...more specifically, that strength comes from rest. Like this:

REST ------>>> STRENGTH

There are all of these examples in scripture of this connection between strength and rest, like the way that Jesus went away to rest and seek solitude before he had to be strong before the multitudes. Anyhow, we talked about how much our culture twists this relationship between strength and rest. Our culture tells us that if we need rest, then we are weak. It tells us that activity, accomplishment, busyness, perfectionism, and stoicism equals and breeds strength. But really, all of this stuff depletes us. It makes us frazzled, fragmented, and exhausted.

I was thinking a lot about this today because of something that happened last night. I've mentioned before that I've been involved with a ministry called Celebrate Recovery over the past year. Last fall I started an intensive study that guided me and a group of other ladies through the twelve steps of recovery. It's been a season of breaking down the blinders of denial, doing an inventory of my relationship with God, with myself, and with others, and of learning how to surrender my life to God and to really, really trust Him. Anyhow, last night was our night to celebrate the progress we have made and to give Him praise for the victories we have experienced. We all sat around a big table and ate together and shared our stories.

I wrote over three-pages, single spaced, to share with our group, and about half-way into the first paragraph, I started to cry. I am a crier, a big crier, and once I start, it's hard for me to stop. I thought I was doomed when the tears started coming so early into my story. I'll never get through this, I thought.

But I did...eventually. I had to stop to blow my nose a few times and I felt horribly self-consious. I was a blubbering, shaking mess by the end, but I got every word out. I gave it all that I had; I held nothing back. I hoped that my words might touch the other women in my group and give praise to Jesus, the ultimate Author of it all. It was a powerful night and I felt pretty proud of how much our group has grown and learned over the past year.

This morning, however, something very typical happened. I woke up feeling horrible. The feeling is familiar...a tinge of nausea combined with a lurking sense of shame. I felt embarrassed and stupid about how emotional I had gotten. I wondered, why can't I be one of those women who can speak the words without my voice quivering, without tears blurring my vision, and without my hands shaking as I clench the words on the page? Why must I be so...so...emotional? (I'm slowly and stubbornly learning to accept that maybe God just made me this way and I need to stop comparing myself to people who can speak in public without losing total composure.)

Anyhow, I say all of this because I think I'm realizing that maybe my embarrassment over my vulnerable, emotional display last night is that our culture tells us that this type of behavior is weak. In the same way it tells us that rest is weak, it also tells us that tearful displays of emotion are weak. It tells us to stay locked up inside, to not show our hearts, to protect ourselves, and to keep it all together.

Over the years, I've learned that sharing our stories with one another takes courage. It takes courage to be vulnerable. It takes courage to struggle. It takes courage to fight against resistance, and it takes courage to open yourself up to change, to share your brokenness and neediness.

So, all of this is to say that our culture has got it all backwards. These hard, stoic images that we somehow get in our heads of what it means to be strong are false illusions. Practicing rest gives us strength. This is where we can refuel and listen to God and to ourselves. And then, from that rest, we can go out and struggle hard and boldly share our broken lives with one another--we can share our stories--we can share all that we've heard in our moments of rest.

Throughout my MFA program, this question is commonly asked:

What makes a piece of writing good?

The answer is usually unanimous:

A good piece of writing evokes an emotional response from the reader/hearer.

So, I guess I needed to write this for myself, to remind myself of what strength is, where it comes from, and that it usually doesn't show up in the way I think it should. Perhaps my level of emotion last night doesn't mean that I'm a weak, histrionic basket-case. Perhaps it means that God is writing a pretty incredible story for me as I yield my life to Him...and He is teaching me to share it...tears, quivers, shakes, and all.

Codependent No More

I've been thinking a lot lately about books that have impacted my life over the past few years and I'd love to spend some time talking about them over the next few weeks...

I'm not really one for self-help books, but this book by Melody Beattie is an exception. I've been reading it and re-reading it over the past year, and in conjunction with a lot of support from my recovery group, mentors, therapist, and friends, it has revolutionized the way I approach life and relationships. 

I think all humans struggle on some level with issues of codependency. If you struggle, like me, with perfectionism, control, seeking the approval of others, maintaining healthy boundaries, feeling guilty about being who you are, feeling responsible for other people's feelings and reactions, having a tendency to rescue and people-please, and/or struggle with addiction or love someone who struggles with addiction (to name a few), then you will probably like this book too.  

Some things I have learned over the past year...quotes worth sharing...from Codependent No More...

"We don't have to take things so seriously (ourselves, events, and other people). We blow things out of proportion--our feelings, thoughts, actions, and mistakes. We do the same thing with other people's feelings, thoughts, and actions. We tell ourselves things are awful, terrible, a tragedy, and the end of the world. Many things might be sad, too bad, and unpleasant--but the only thing that's the end of the world is the end of the world. Feelings are important, but they're only feelings. Thoughts are important, but they're only thoughts--and we all think a lot of different things, and our thoughts are subject to change. What we say and do is important, what others say and do is important, but the world doesn't hinge on any particular speech or action. And if it is particularly important that something gets done or said, don't worry: It'll happen. Lighten up. Give yourself and others room to move, to talk, to be who they are--to be human. Give life a chance to happen. Give yourself and opportunity to enjoy it."

***

"I believe...that our low self-worth or self-hatred is tied into all aspects of our codependency: martyrdom, refusal to enjoy life; workaholism, staying so busy we can't enjoy life; perfectionism, not allowing ourselves to enjoy or feel good about the things we do; procrastination, heaping piles of guilt and uncertainty on ourselves; and preventing intimacy with people such as running from relationships, avoiding commitment, staying in destructive relationships; initiating relationships with people who are not good for us, and avoiding people who are good for us...We can find endless means of torturing ourselves: overeating, neglecting our needs, comparing ourselves to others, competing with people, obsessing, dwelling on painful memories, or imagining future painful scenes...We scare ourselves, then wonder why we feel so frightened. We don't like ourselves, and we're not going to let ourselves get any of the good stuff because we believe we don't deserve it."

***

"We need to refuse to enter into an antagonistic relationship with ourselves. Quit blaming ourselves and being victimized, and take responsible steps to remove the victim. Put the screws to guilt. Shame and guilt serve no long-term purpose. They are only useful to momentarily indicate when we may have violated our own moral codes. Guilt and shame are not useful as a way of life. Stop the "shoulds." Become aware of when we're punishing and torturing ourselves and make a concerted effort to tell ourselves positive messages. If we should be doing something, do it. If we're torturing ourselves, stop it. It gets easier. We can laugh at ourselves, tell ourselves we won't be tricked, give ourselves a hug, then go about the business of living as we choose. If we have real guilt, deal with it. God will forgive us. We don't have to punish ourselves by feeling guilty to prove to God or anyone else how much we care."

***

"Codependents are oppressed, depressed, and repressed. Many of us can quickly tell what someone else is feeling, why that person is feeling that way, how long they've felt that way, and what that person is probably going to do because of that feeling. Many of us spend our lives fussing about other people's feelings. We try to fix people's feelings. We try to control other people's feelings. We don't want to hurt people, we don't want to upset them, and we don't want to offend them. We feel so responsible for other people's feelings. Yet, we don't know what we are feeling. If we do, we don't know what to do to fix ourselves. Many of us have abandoned or never taken responsibility for our emotional selves."

***

Anyhow, I'll stop here before I end up quoting the entire book. There are so many great truths throughout this book and Beattie writes with such an encouraging, honest, confidant, and firm tone. If any of these quotes resonate with you, I think this book would be worth reading.

Has anyone else read this book? If so, what were your thoughts on it?

Homecoming

On Easter Sunday Chris and I had some downtime before we needed to be at the airport to head home. So, without a doubt, we headed to the beach. There's a quaint breakfast cafe in the Belvedere Hotel right on the boardwalk of VA Beach. We got a booth right by the window and this was our view.

Chris was commenting on how much the VA Beach boardwalk felt like Huntington Beach, CA, where he grew up. I had to admit, it did feel a bit different than the beaches I grew up going to in South Carolina, yet it's still the same ocean with the same warm water that I swam in as a girl. VA Beach has its own vibe, which seems to be a perfect blend of Chris's and my past. In a way, we both feel like we are coming home. He's got a surfing spot...or as good of a surfing spot as you can find on the east coast...

and I've got my grits again.

I think we're going to like this place.

When we walked through our new home for the first time, we entered through the garage. Right away, the same thing struck us: surfboard racks. Tons of them, hanging from the ceiling. From the beginning, Chris could start to envision us in that house. He could see us coming home from the beach, stowing our boards away in the garage, and rinsing our sandy feet off in the outside shower on our back patio. I love seeing my man's eyes light up like this. 

By the ocean, my surfing and sailing stud is like a boy again, full of adventure and passion and play. He's worked so very hard to get to this place, to finally be at this season of life where he can call the ocean home once again. 

So, this poem, this is for my man and for the new season of life we are about to plunge into together...

"Ocean" by Mary Oliver

I am in love with Ocean

lifting her thousands of white hats

in the chop of the storm,

or lying smooth and blue, the 

loveliest bed in the world.

In the personal life, there is

always grief more than enough,

a heart-load for each one of us

on the dusty road. I suppose

there is a reason for this, so I will be

patient, acquiescent. But I will live

nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting

equally in all the blast and welcome

of her sorrowless, salt self.

when i miss what's right in front of me...

Chris and I have really worked ourselves up this week amidst the stressors of buying a home on the other side of the country and adopting on the other side of the world. The problematic details that each of these endeavors present have swallowed up our minds. We start projecting into the future, feel burdened about all the things we can have no way of knowing or planning for, and try answering questions that are basically unanswerable. As two individuals who equally despise uncertainty and instability--or any situation that disables us from relying on our own self-sufficiency--it is like the blind leading the blind. Thank God we have good people and a good church to knock some sense back into us.

Sometimes it's a bit jarring to hear how vastly different peoples' perception of me is compared with the way I view myself. Last night I had my Red Tent dinner and I ended up gushing and purging all of my angst and built-up tension regarding the upcoming changes in my life. I can tend to focus on all the negative things, the hard things, the things that feel like impossible mountains to overcome. But as I talked and shared and cried last night, I got to hear myself speak, and I got to hear my friends speak in response to me. They are all so excited for me regarding all the changes ahead...the new home, the fresh start, the beautiful boy who will be our son. As I've chewed on their responses today, it's become apparent to me how much I've been totally MISSING a lot of the beauty, excitement, celebration, and blessing that's right in front of me. Yes, there are many stressors ahead, and yes, there is a ton of uncertainty, but I am also aware that these potential stressors are linked to a life of immense blessing and privilege. It's easy to lose sight of the forest for the trees. All of this was reinforced this morning in church, where the message was on "Trusting God...Even if..." Oh, how often I need to be reminded of His goodness, His love, and His sovereignty! It's incredible how easily I entangle myself in the myriad of stress-inducing details rather than focus on blessings at hand.

Gratitude reframes my perspective on life. It rewires my heart and mind. It is a choice that allows me to see the goodness that's right in front of me everyday, and it cures my festering tendency to cocoon myself inside of my own flawed and often pessimistic mind...the one that says "whoa is me, no one understands, I'm so alone, blah, blah, blah." Gratitude says that that's just a bunch of hogwash. Gratitude says, "DUDE...WAKE UP...SMELL THE COFFEE...SEE THE GLORY THAT IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!!"

I'm not alone. I'm blessed. And even if I think that people don't understand my situation completely, who cares? Understanding is sometimes over-rated. We each live different lives and no one can totally understand our life except God. But we can walk alongside one another and listen to each other, accept each other, and speak truth to each other regardless. Shoot, I barely understand myself anyways.

Today I'm thankful for a weekend of rest and renewed perspective. I'm thankful for the exciting times ahead, and I'm thankful for relationships that get me outside of myself.

French Press

is becoming a habit. I used to only pull it out for special occasions, and then one day I thought, that's silly...why not use it everyday?

I like the little swirly thing the coffee does with the different shades of brown. You don't get that effect with regular drip coffee because the filter catches all the oils from the beans.

Coffee is one of the greatest gifts of God to man. I have needed a lot of it to keep me going this week. Chris is at the gym with the girls and I stayed behind to recharge a bit. This quiet time at home on Saturday mornings is becoming my time to make French press and write and reflect on the week.

This week we have been recovering from the intensity of our house-hunting trip and the girls have been adjusting too. I think we are still all settling back in. Chris and I got home around 11pm on Easter and we hit the ground running on Monday. Our LOC showed up on our doorstep on Monday afternoon, so the rest of this week has been like a return to this time last year, when I was up to my ears in dossier paperwork. The arrival of our LOC launched the last leg of paperwork to get our boy, including another massive stack to be sent to US Immigration and another stack to be sent back to our agency. We are in the final round of getting immigration approval for our boy and also applying for his visa into the country. This process has so many steps and layers, it's hard to keep track, but it's all becoming very real. I mailed out the I-800 and LOC package to immigration on Thursday. I checked and rechecked and re-re-re-re-re-checked that sucker. We can't afford for it to be sent back to us and redone for minor errors. It's meticulous and tedious and it makes my head hurt just thinking about it, but I pray that every box was checked, every "i" dotted and "t" crossed. Whew!

I just got to thinking the other day that I should probably start buying boy clothes. I suppose I've waited because 1) I didn't really know what size to buy for Ren, and 2) It just didn't seem real yet that we'd actually end up with a son at the end of this process. Perhaps this sounds strange, but I've been staring at papers for over a year now, and I think there's still a part of me that wonders if we'll just end up with a big stack of paper at the end of this...a paper child, so to speak. I suppose it's similar to carrying a biological child and feeling like you'll be pregnant forever...that no child will actually come out of this whole deal. But this past week I started to wrap my mind around the reality that there WILL BE a BEAUTIFUL flesh and blood BOY when this is all said and done. And he will need boy clothes...and boy toys. My denial is waning. Move over Barbie, it's time for some planes, trains, and automobiles!

In the midst of regrouping, unpacking, doing laundry, and paper-chasing, we have also been bidding on a house all week. Chris and I have been searching for rental properties as a back up plan, or just as a potentially better plan than buying, but each and every house that we found had "just been rented" to someone else. These properties had also "just been listed," so it seemed like God was closing the door to renting. Long story short, after a long week of praying and counter-offering, we have agreed on a sale price with the seller of this home and we are under contract! We still have some hurdles to get through...the appraisal and the inspection...but we are really excited.

Sometimes I don't like writing "update" type blog posts...it can tend to feel tedious and tiring...but I want to remember everything that's happening with us and how all of these events are transpiring. There's so much more to share, so I hope to write more in the coming days and weeks. That's it for now. Gotta clean house for my Red Tent Dinner tonight!

when it rains...

(I wrote this two days ago on the journey home...just getting a chance to post it now!) 

I’m typing these words on Easter Sunday from high in the sky, somewhere over middle America, chasing the sunset as we fly west. The colors are like a rainbow, with the sky a deep blue, fading slowly into golds, oranges and reds at the horizon.  

We are about two hours into a six hour flight from DC to Sacramento, and I am two chapters into The Hunger Games. I decided to take a break from Katniss’s fatal circumstances to write a bit, to process through the roller coaster of events and emotions we have experienced over the past week. There’s a big part of me that wants to shut down and stop writing when things in life feel hectic and overwhelming, but I know I always feel better when I take the time to write. For some reason, the act of writing helps me to stay more engaged with myself and the people around me. It’s good therapy. It helps me stay present and keep a positive frame of mind.

So, here’s the scoop...

Four days ago we took a red-eye flight from Sacramento to Atlanta and then on to Norfolk. We got into Norfolk around 9am EST, got our rental car, and drove south to Virginia Beach, our future home. We met with our realtor, Patti, by 11:15 that morning, feeling a bit delirious from minimal sleep and sustained only by prayer, adrenaline, and a hefty dose of Starbucks. We saw about twenty houses over the course of Thursday and Friday, and by Friday evening, Patti cut us loose to go pray and sleep over the big decision we needed to make in choosing our future home. As we left her office, our eyes were glazed over and all I wanted was a martini and to fall into an HGTV-induced coma in our hotel room.

But alas! We had to go to church. It was Good Friday, after all, and we were cordially invited by the doctor Chris will be working with in VA to attend a church service that evening with him and his family. We gathered into the sanctuary, into old wooden pews that conjured so many memories of the southern churches of my childhood. The room was completely dark except for one candle that burned dimly in the front of the church. There were at least 150 people gathered there, all of us completely silent as we sat in the dark chapel, reflective of what the day symbolized.

I tried to focus my mind on the significance of the day but my mind kept reeling with details from all the homes we’d seen over the past two days. They ran through my head like a film strip, one image after another, all of them starting to blur together. But as I sat in the silence of the chapel, I noticed there was one house in particular I could not stop thinking about. I kept trying to envision how we would fit our furniture into it, how painstakingly difficult and stressful it would be to renovate, and how potentially impractical it was for our growing family. I repeatedly caught myself thinking about it and tried to refocus my mind on God and pray that my thoughts would be on Him instead. I prayed that He would show us which house He had for us, that He would guide us into a decision. But this house, like a high school crush, I could not get out of my mind.

As the service ended and Chris and I walked out to the parking lot, I told him that I felt a bit guilty because my mind was so distant from what was happening during the service.I told him that I could not stop thinking about this one house in particular. He said he felt relieved because he was thinking about the same house too and couldn’t get his mind off of it. The fact that we both felt so strongly about this house was very validating for us. We felt that perhaps God was already starting to answer our prayers by giving us clarity and unity about the decision.

The future family K beach home?

Long story short, we went back to view this one particular house again on Saturday and we have put an offer on it. Our offer is remarkably lower than the asking price, which was quite over-priced based on market comparisons. This charming home is 1.3 miles from the beach. It is in a beautiful neighborhood, reminiscent of our Alamo Heights days, and is in a recommended school district. But...the inside needs a lot of work. It needs a family to come along and pour love and beauty back into it. And I am hoping that family is us...but apparently, the seller is “in shock” over our offer and may not be willing to come down significantly on the price, in which case we will walk away. We should hear more by tomorrow. We are trusting that God will direct us to the right decision and that He will provide a rental home if this house is not for us. There are no other options for us to buy...not that we feel good about. So we wait, again, trusting in His plan and timing and provision for it all. 

In other news...

On Thursday afternoon we stopped for a quick coffee break in between our house showings. It was a cold and rainy day and I was starting to crash and burn after so little sleep, so I ran into a Starbucks to get some caffeine for Chris, Patti, and myself. As I was waiting in line I pulled out my phone to check email and a new message downloaded. It read...

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE RECEIVED YOUR LOC FROM CHINA!

Really? Really, God? Now? 

Stimulation on top of more stimulation! 

When it rains it pours! 

I brought our three coffees back to the car and told Chris. We both laughed out loud because before this house-hunting trip we’d said to ourselves, “Wouldn’t it be typical to get our LOC during this trip?” Anyhow, Tiffany from our agency called about an hour later and started rattling off a massive list of things to do now that we have our LOC. She was speaking in another language, talking about the names of all the forms that needed to be completed and so forth, and I tried to explain that we were out of town, running on about 2 hours of sleep, and on input-overload from house-hunting. I wish I had been more excited than I was, but in that moment I was so far beyond my threshold for mental and emotional engagement. 

So, when we get home it will be time to fly back into paperwork mode, the last batch to conquer before we can get our boy!  Based on the timing of our LOC, we expect to travel to China around the middle of July.

And...

You all probably heard about the F-18 crash in VA Beach on Good Friday. We drove by the sight of the crash a few minutes before it happened. It is a MIRACLE that no one in town was hurt, a true God thing. It feels significant that it happened on Good Friday, as this event was such an illustration of how God’s love and mercy still shine through and overcome...even on the darkest of days. 

Chris and I are also starting to get weirded out by the number of disasters that seem to occur when we go out of town. Two years ago today, we were in southern California for a little getaway before Chris deployed, when suddenly the beach house we were renting started to sway back and forth. I thought it might be from the AmTrack that ran right behind the house, but Chris’s eyes met mine as I looked at him in fear, and he said, “Earthquake! Go get Lucy.” He grabbed Tess and I ran to get Lu and we held our breath and our girls tightly beneath a door frame as the ground rolled beneath us.

And about one year ago we were in Hawaii during the devastating Japan tsunami. We heard the shrill alarms and pounding on our door at midnight, telling us to evacuate. We woke up our girls and packed some basic belongings we thought we might need for survival and got in our rental car and made our way for higher ground. After sitting in a hot car for about an hour with two screaming girls, we found a youth hostel that would take us for the night. Overall, Hawaii was spared.

And now, this spring and Easter, a fighter jet fell out of the sky and crashed near an intersection we’d driven by minutes earlier with our realtor. F-18s fly daily over the VA Beach area, and something like this hasn’t happened in 20 years.

We are starting to see a pattern here. Maybe we should just stay home. It kind of makes me scared for our China trip! But...we have made it out unharmed each time, praise God.

Well, it’s back to The Hunger Games for now...

On a closing note...here are some things I’m thankful for today...

• Jesus...His life...Life to the fullest...Amen.
• My husband, who understands words like “escrow.”
• My parents, who are the BOMB grandparents, and who have flown out to Cali to keep our girls for us so we could do this house-hunting trip.
• The opportunity to buy a home and make it ours over the long haul, even if it doesn’t work out with this house.
• The ocean.
• Sour Patch Kids: the perfect plane snack.

my map

Where you come from is gone, 

where you thought you were going to never was there,

and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it.

In yourself, right now is all the place you've got.

--Flannery O'Connor

I find myself again in that obscure place, approaching a major intersection of life, walking down one road that will soon diverge into another, preparing myself to part ways from those on this current path with me, reflective of past roads I've traveled before this one, all the while trying to make out the hazy horizon before me. It is familiar territory, a situation I sometimes wish I didn't know so intimately.

But I do. Hellos and goodbyes are deeply engrained in my story. Change is something that often feels more familiar to me than consistency and sameness, and I struggle between conflicting desires for both. I love a good adventure, newness, seeing new landscapes and meeting new people. And yet I hate this part of it...the gearing up to say goodbye, the wanting to detach from community as I watch people grow closer together while I prepare to part. For me, being "here and now" is difficult when so many preparations must be made for the future, when I feel like I have one foot in and one foot out.

As I drive around northern California, I look at the land, the hills that grow greener each day with the spring rain. I take note of my favorite stretches of I-80, my favorite bends of Hwy 29, and the daily drives that make me say I will miss this. As I drove to meet a dear friend for lunch in San Francisco several weeks ago, I took a photo of my favorite part of the drive, the hilly section of highway between Fairfield and Vallejo, right around American Canyon, where the pavement digs into the landscape and the view begins to open itself up to the bay.

And then there is that stretch between our home and Sacramento, where the hills subside into flat farmland. Vineyards become orchards and hills become plains, the cool marine air turns drier and warmer. I know this stretch of the road well, the part that's paved with memories of picking up and dropping off visitors at the Sacramento airport, especially during the long, hot summer of Chris's deployment. It is the route I drove to take our dossier to Sacramento, the day I put the final touches on the paperwork that would lead us to our son. It is also the stretch of road I drive to go to Dixon for therapy each week, a time when my thoughts and emotions are raw and accessible as I pass fields of sunflowers and corn, walnut orchards, and pegboards of trees meticulously planted and preened.

This is my map, the part of the earth where I have been planted, nourished, and pruned over the past three years. Parts of who I am reside in this land. Segments of my story will forever be tied to this place and the thought of leaving it feels as painful as losing an intimate part of myself. Fragments of my heart will be left here, just as they were in the many other places I have lived, and so I suppose it's no wonder that I can feel this way. Fractioned, pieced apart, a little less than whole.

My journey to this part of the country began nearly ten years ago. I have traveled and resided in all four time zones of the United States, one at a time, and this long and gradual trek of cross-country self-discovery will end here, the final destination, the opposite coast from where I came, which is ironically where I have felt most at home, most like myself. The West is full of open spaces and drier air, room to breathe and blossom into my own person. I have needed this space, and now, a decade later, I prepare myself to return, to venture back home, a far different woman than I was when I left.

So for now, I am soaking up the moments left with the people I love and the landscape I love. I want each day to celebrate with all of my senses the journey God has led me on over the past decade. This era is quickly coming to a close. Everything is about to change.

Here before me now...my map, of a place and therefore of myself, and much that can never be said adds to its reality...just as much of its reality is based on my own shadows, my own inventions.

Over the years I have taught myself, and have been taught, to be a stranger. A stranger usually has the normal five senses, perhaps especially so, ready to protect and nourish him.

--MFK Fisher, Map of Another Town