wild geese

I went on a run at the duck pond on base this morning. I almost didn't go because it was so cold out, but I decided to bundle up and brave the bite in the air. The duck pond is one of my favorite places to run. It has many interesting attractions that a treadmill lacks--a long, winding trail, a gorgeous view of the Napa hills, and geese...lots of geese.  

A whole flock of them had taken up residence on one stretch of the jogging path, and as I tried to weave in and out of them, they waddled their plump white rumps out of the way...except for one. One of them wouldn't budge. His beady black eyes stared a whole through me, and as I jogged past, he opened his dark beak, cranked back his neck, and released a loud, angry hiss.

I jogged on and laughed a little. It was one of those moments that caught me off guard. When I thought about what the day would hold, I didn't envision being hissed at by a goose. It definitely got my attention.

***

In the process of writing a poem for school this week, I've been noticing how the emotional and spiritual seasons we go through in life are reflected in nature. Nature repeats itself. Most beauty is in this repetition. This morning as I ran, I noticed the naked, silver branches, the placid pond, the black birds scattering across the cloudless blue sky. These details are beautiful. They are significant. They are not random images God placed in creation. They tell us something about Him. They tell us something about how to live a meaningful life. They tell us how we might fit into all of that.

***

This evening I received an email from a friend.  He attached a poem for me to read by an incredible contemporary poet, Mary Oliver.  The poem...of all poems...is called "Wild Geese."

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place 

in the family of things.

a trip that takes us

I'm sitting in bed with my laptop. I've been up since 4am, when Tess tapped my shoulder and said she'd wet her bed. After helping her get changed and tucked back in, I couldn't get back to sleep. By 5am I surrendered and started the coffee. It's actually been a nice morning, with extra time to journal, pray, and reflect.

Chris and I have been tired. Almost four days of pure excitement and adrenaline have worn off and we've felt the crash. I think I'm still feeling it.

what GOES UP...
MUST
COME
down.

Lately my mind has been on Lucy, who just turned two on Christmas Eve. I am already aware that this huge shift in our family dynamics will likely impact her the hardest. The momma-bear in me is rearing up on hind legs, wanting to fight against all the ways she will be forced out of her comfort zone. I want to make the transition as smooth as I can for her, and in the midst of all of this, I'm realizing that I might be projecting my emotions onto her...just a little bit.

Lucy is starting at a new school this week and her first day was yesterday. It's going to be an adjustment for her and I've been stressed out about how she will adapt to her new environment. Overall, Chris and I think this is the best thing for Lucy and our family, as I'm still in grad school and now gearing up to go to China this spring. Having Tess and Lu at the same school will also provide them with some structure and routine when we bring Ren home, and I think this will be a positive thing for them in the long run, while also giving Ren and I one on-one-time to attach.

I know that easing into this transition is going to take time, but yesterday I felt overwhelmed by a sense of sadness and loss. My baby Lu is not a baby anymore. I was resistant to moving her into a big girl bed over Christmas and I find myself wanting to hold onto the baby in her as long as possible. We will start potty training soon. Her naps are becoming more sporadic. She is the last bio child Chris and I will have, and I am starting to say goodbye to this phase of the journey, which despite many challenges, has been so sweet in so many ways. Within a matter of months, Ren will be the youngest, the baby, and this will be an entirely new experience for us all.

I know parenthood is full of changes. Just when you master one phase of development, it's already time to move on to the next one, whether you're ready for it or not. As parents, it seems that we are just along for the ride, without much control over what comes next. It reminds me of a quote by John Steinbeck that's painted on the wall of the Steinbeck museum, which we visited in Salinas this past October:

I'm realizing that this journey of parenthood and adoption, and more significantly, the journey guided by Christ, is not one that we take...

It is one that takes us.

I'll close with a video that Chris made of Lucy, commemorating her first two years of life...what sweet ones they were! Happy belated birthday to my big girl, Lu! We love you so much.

Introducing...

"I may infuse within you a dream that seems far beyond your reach.  You know that in yourself you cannot achieve such a goal.  Thus begins your journey of profound reliance on Me."  --Jesus Calling

The phone call came unexpectedly on an idle Tuesday morning. I was standing over the stove, sautéing chopped onions and diced tomatoes, when I realized I'd left my cell phone in my car after returning home from Costco about an hour earlier. As I brought my phone back inside, I saw that I'd missed a call from Tiffany, our case manager at our adoption agency. She hadn't left a message, and my heart started beating faster.

This is it, I thought.  She's calling to tell us she's found our son.

There was no other reason I could think of for her phone call, and because it was the beginning of the month, I knew that more children had just been uploaded to the Chinese orphan databank. As I cradled my phone in my hand, it started ringing.  It was Tiffany again.  I was terrified to answer it.

I've rehearsed what this phone call would be like a million times over. I have always imagined joyous screams and laughter...not my current reaction, which was the sudden urge to say, "No, I'm not ready for this!" and hang up on her. I made it through "Hello" and she said the words I was both elated and terrified to hear: "I think I found a referral for your family!"

I walked the phone back to Chris, who was providentially home from work and sitting at his desk. I put Tiffany on speaker and we listened as she started telling us about the boy who might be our son. As we were on the phone with her, she emailed us his entire file. We opened up the attachments. We saw the photos. We were instantly captivated.

As we gazed at his adorable face, my fear dwindled down and my heart raced wildly with excitement. Oh my goodness, this was happening, this was really happening! He might be ours. I felt it in my bones. This was our boy, our Ren, our beautiful boy. I desperately hoped this was him.

The following days were a race to collect information, fill out and notarize more documents, seek our social worker's approval, and get feedback from an international adoption pediatrician. Our potential son's file was on lock for our family, but we had to gather all of this information before we could come back with an official "yes" for our agency. And after 48 hours of paper chasing, phone conferences, long discussions, a lot of prayer, and gazing at this precious boy's face a thousand times...we have said...

YES!!!

So, we would like to introduce you to the newest and arguably cutest member of the Kurz clan:

Warren Robert Kurz, aka "Ren"

Born on 21 November 2010

We started this process just over a year ago. It's crazy to think that Ren was just one month old when we mailed off our official adoption application to AGCI. The waiting has been extremely difficult and we know it will get harder, as we most likely won't travel to get him for another 4-6 months, but we are overflowing with joy to know who he is, where he is, and to start the final stage of our journey toward him.

Last weekend, Chris and I both sat down separately to write a 2011 Kurz family newsletter to send out to our friends and family. We each attempted to recap what last year looked like for our family, and we both abandoned our attempts--it just didn't feel right--and for good reason, as this life changing news was about to hit us the following day. And, as always, God knew exactly what He was doing and when the perfect time would be for it. This entire journey has been a constant reminder of the truth expressed in Psalm 31:14-15, which I happened to read the morning we received the news:

But as for me, I trust in You, O Lord;

I say "You are my God,"

My times are in Your hand.

To God be all the praise and glory. He is a Father to the fatherless, our healer, our redeemer. We are continually amazed at His love for us, at His constant work on our behalf, at His incredible and constant presence in our lives, even when we can't always see or feel it.

We want to thank all of you for following us along on this journey, for your prayers and support, and we ask that you continue to lift us up in prayer as we are going to need it in the months to come.

I will close with a quote from a book, The Quotidian Mysteries, that I finished reading a few weeks ago. It eloquently captures some of the places our hearts and minds have treaded over the past year:

"We are asked to make all that we have been taught and trained to do--as nurses, educators, theologians, poets, doctors, secretaries, accountants or what-have-you--available to God. Especially when human need is at its greatest, and we know ourselves to be incapable of meeting that need on our own, we are asked to find our strength in Jesus Christ. And we are asked to make our most serious and intimate commitments with very little idea of how long they will last, or what will be required of us."  --Kathleen Norris

2012

I just wrote a whole recap of 2011 in my journal, but it ended up sounding over-generalized and canned, so I abandoned it. I didn't feel that it was an accurate reflection of how I experienced God or life this past year, and I don't suppose I can condense those thoughts and feelings into a single post without feeling completely exhausted by it.

It's 3pm and I sit on the couch in our family room.  Tess naps and Lucy is creating a ruckus in her room.  Chris is paying bills.  I just drank a cup of hot coffee and ate some left over brownies.  My jeans are snug around the waste.  I made a long grocery list and it seems hard to believe that after all the feasting this holiday season, we still must eat.

Chris took down the Christmas decorations a couple of days ago.  I put the final things back in their rightful place this morning around the house.  I love how the house looks suddenly empty.  The sky is clear outside and the trees are bare.  I enjoy the simplicity, the scantness, of the dawn of a new year.  There is room for new possibilities, room for change.

Tomorrow I think I'll pull the wilting and dried up flowers out of the pots in our yard.  A few blooms have survived up until now, but I have a sudden hankering to dig everything up and let the dirt rest alone for a few months.

2012 will be a year of many anticipated changes, many future unknowns, and guaranteed chaos.  I am refocusing my mind on the present, the here and now, because this is where God is, this is where He meets and renews me, and I don't want to miss a thing.  So, if I had to make a New Years resolution, this would be it. Mindfulness. Awareness. My life is happening, right now. This is it, and I am in it.