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.