The Slow Death of a Cynic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Francis Chan ends his chapter with the following words:

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

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

Are you a cynic? What are you afraid of?

Expecting

So...we are expecting!

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

Herein begins the paper pregnancy!

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

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

"Describe your adolescence."

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

"Have you ever been treated for emotional problems?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the final wrap

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously?

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

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

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

Deep

I've spent some time today browsing through the blogosphere, and as I read through several posts that paid homage to 2010 and voiced hopes for 2011, it suddenly struck me that tomorrow is the first day of a brand new year.

I always like the idea of a clean slate, a fresh start. I love the feel of the house when all the Christmas decorations are put away. I love the space, the bareness, the simplicity. I love returning to a sense of routine after the holiday chaos has subsided.

It's strange to think that this is how I felt about 2010 when it was just starting. Now, as we live out the last few hours of this year, it's hard to believe that at one time it, too, was a new year with a fresh start. Now it has run its course, its slate is full, covered in writing. Some paragraphs are lovely, some are hard to read, and some of the page is full of scribbles that I still haven't made sense of yet.

It feels too overwhelming to do an exhaustive recap of this past year. Something in me resists it. Perhaps I don't want to revisit certain things, perhaps it just feels like too much to revisit in one sitting.

I started back to school about a month ago and I'm enjoying it. I'm taking my advanced literary nonfiction workshops right now, which means I'm doing a lot of writing about...myself. The past few days I've been working on a manuscript that's due next week. It is the beginning of what I hope will be my thesis project, a personal biopsy of marriage, motherhood, and military life, with faith interjected throughout.

The process of writing has so much to teach. These past few days I've immersed myself back in my own memories in order to better tell the story I'm working on, and I've realized how much there is to those memories when I allow myself the time to examine them. Philip Gerard writes,

"in the act of revisiting our lives, we also gain something important: We recover memory. And in so doing, we come to understand our own lives better. In the end, that may be the best--if most selfish--reason for writing..."

Gerard says that "memory begets memory," and this is proving to be true. The more I remember, the more I remember. I've recently been planting myself back in the springtime of 2010, in the anxious weeks just before Chris departed for Afghanistan. I've also gone back, over six years ago, to the springtime of 2004, when Chris and I first met. The incredible thing for me about writing these stories out on paper is that I'm starting to see God in so many details I'd never made sense of before. It's made me wonder how many other places He's been in my past that I've failed to recognize.

The common thread between the spring of 2004 and 2010, other than the fact that they preceded summer deployments, is the Pacific Ocean. I've been thinking quite a lot about that big blue expanse of water, and how God took us there in the springtime in both of those years. It's just now that I'm starting to understand that perhaps that wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps He was trying to tell me something, something that was uniquely communicated through that particular place.

Chris and I were talking about it last night, the Pacific. I grew up on the Atlantic, so I'm always in awe of how different, how blue, the Pacific is. The unique thing about the Pacific ocean is that it gets very deep very fast. It's lovely to look at, it looks good from a distance, but the closer you get to it the more terrifying it is. I remember, over 6 years ago, when Chris and I sailed over it and swam in its depths. Within the first two hours on the sailboat I threw up. I had to drug myself with Dramamine to survive the first leg of the trip. At certain points of the journey, not even a tiny speck of land was visible, only water, deep deep water. But over time I started to enjoy the adventure of it, the choppy, rocking, loss-of-control freedom of it. I remember how frightening and exhilarating it was to plunge into its mysterious, unfathomable waters. Its depths are gauged in miles. Its water is purer, bluer, than any ocean I've seen.

Revisiting the vivid details of sailing on the Pacific, swimming in it, watching its waves crash on the shore, has made me realize how much God is like the ocean. Lately, listening to Him and following Him has felt like swimming in the Pacific. It's been terrifying, exhilarating, risky, deep, refreshing, all-encompassing.

2010 brought a lot of change for our family. It gave me a big dose of perspective, a hunger to live my life differently, a yearning to stop trying to do it all by myself. Had it not been for the hard things, I don't know that I'd be so ready to jump into His deep waters. But I am, and I know 2011 is probably going to be a wild ride...

How did 2010 impact you, and what are you hoping for in 2011?

All In

I went to church this morning with just the girls. Chris slept in today because he was up yesterday morning with Tess at 4am (she was too excited to sleep in anticipation of all her gifts)! So today I took the morning shift and decided to go to church because I was dying to get out of the house and have some peace and quiet. I dropped the girls off in their Sunday-school rooms and settled into a chair by myself in the sanctuary. The church was pretty empty today, I presume because of Christmas, and I enjoyed the feel of it. I cherish that for one hour, in the midst of a room of other people, I can be alone with my thoughts and God.

Today our pastor spoke on living in the moment--not a very original topic, I suppose, but one that I'm always in need of hearing. One of the points that resonated most strongly with me today:

"Learn how to surrender your moments."

Our pastor talked about surrendering ourselves, each day, each moment, to God, seeking what He wants to do through us. He referenced Luke 1:38, when Mary has just received the news that she's going to be pregnant and give birth to the Son of God, and she says "I'm God's servant...may it be to me as you have said."

Mary has the posture of "I'm in, Lord. Whatever it means, I'm in."

I don't naturally wake up each morning with this attitude. I want to have this attitude on a daily basis, and I know there is immense joy and peace in maintaining this stance in my life, but it just doesn't come naturally. The first thing on my mind in the morning, other than coffee, is "what am I gonna do today?" rather than "What do You want to do through me today?" I need a daily reminder of it in order to practice it. It's depressing how easily I forget.

My whole family is going through a lot right now. My brother struggles with addiction, and these past few months have been pretty intense. My parents have sought out treatment of their own--a group called Al-anon, which is a 12-step program for the family members of addicts, who are typically addicted to controlling the addict in their lives. It's all FUBAR. In the end, addiction is never isolated. It affects the entire family. It's impacted my entire family. And in the end, we are all addicts, whether we realize it or not. Some of our addictions are more socially accepted than others. Recovery is a daily, life-long process.

My mom came for a visit a few weeks ago and shared a lot of what her experience has been like in Al-anon. She reads the 12 steps everyday because she needs a daily reminder to "let go and let God"--one of the many mantras of AA and Al-anon (and I suppose a cliche to some). She knows that she can't control my brother or his addiction--a reality that is both terrifying and freeing. She can only be responsible for herself, and she can only trust that God will take care of everything that is out of her control--including my brother's wellbeing.

This loosening of our grip on the things we love so much is terrifying...and also essential to our sanity.

The irony is that when we let go of the things we want to control, they sometimes have a way of working out on their own, and end up better than we could have orchestrated ourselves. My family is perhaps the healthiest its ever been on an emotional and relational level, and I think it's because we all are realizing that we can't control one another, and all we can do is look to God and do what we can to keep ourselves right with Him. This has led us to have a lot of grace for one another.

This morning in church I was thinking about Mary. She decided to "let go and let God," and as a result, God used her to give birth to His Son, who then gave His life so that we might have it. Mary was an ordinary 14 year old girl, but because she was willing to let God do anything through her, she changed the course of history forever.

I've been pondering the many paradoxes of Christ lately, particularly the one that says "to save your life you must lose it." I am mindful of how much freedom and peace there is when I allow God to do what He wants through me. Submission leads to freedom. It makes me so much more excited about living; it gives me a sense of purpose. It feels good when my day is more than a to-do list of going to the grocery store, starting a load of laundry, changing a poopy diaper, or writing an essay for school. It feels really good to believe that anything is possible, even when the days feel mundane.

Step 3 of the 12 steps is: "made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God..."

I've been a Christian for over 15 years and I'm just now realizing, or perhaps just being reminded, that my life, in fact, is not all about me.

Now and Then

Last year, early on Christmas Eve morning, a most precious gift arrived...

...a 7 lb 9 oz 21 inch baby girl. We named her Lucy, which means "Light." She is a ray of light in our lives and she reminds us of the one true Light of the World, whose birth we also celebrate at this time of year.

(YIKES, someone could use a splash of makeup...)

We brought her home last year on Christmas morning. It was a foggy, damp, overcast morning, just like the one today. I cried as I left the hospital, overwhelmed with emotion, fatigue, and the post-delivery ache all-over. Most of the rest of that morning is a blur.

And now...one year later...my baby is ONE...

And Lucy has grown quite a bit...

And I'm relishing every moment...and thankful for all the joys and hardships of this past year, because perhaps I've grown just as much as Lucy...

My honey is home for Christmas...

...and I feel acutely aware of how precious my family and friends are, how much I love them and need them, and how much I love and need the One who lives in me, who came into the world as a baby so many years ago. This Christmas doesn't feel like a blur...I am savoring each moment...

my cup of joy runneth over...

...and I'm hopeful and excited for what this new year will bring...perhaps another child...this time...a baby boy...

Happy Birthday my sweet Lulu!

Merry Christmas to you all!

Voice of Truth

I know I've been quiet. It's been over a month since I last posted. I suppose I've been waiting to write again until I had something substantial to report. That, and my mind and heart have been full, and sometimes it's hard for me to find words when I feel this way.

Tomorrow is Lucy's birthday and the day after that is Jesus's birthday, and I've been all wrapped up in the significance of what these days are for me. Both are a celebration of life, light, and hope. Lately, Chris and I are finding ourselves in a place where we are seeking more life, more hope.

This morning I went out to do the last bit of shopping in preparation for these two big events. One of the stops I made was to the post office, to mail off our official adoption application. The application is addressed to All God's Children International, and inside, the boxes "boy," "China," and "special needs" are checked.

The past few weeks have been filled with a lot of asking, listening, stillness, reflection, and soul-searching, and our hearts and minds are ready to start this journey. I have a lot of fear and doubt that I have what it takes to do this, and I continually find myself faced with a choice: give into the fear, or push through it.

A few weeks ago I was browsing through Don Miller's book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. He writes,

"The most often repeated commandment in the Bible is 'Do not fear.' It's in there over two hundred times. That means a couple of things, if you think about it. It means we are going to be afraid, and it means we shouldn't let fear boss us around...fear isn't only a guide to keep us safe; it's also a manipulative emotion that can trick us into living a boring life."

Over the past few weeks, Fear has woken me up in the middle of the night. It whispers things like "This is too much" and "You can't handle this" and "Imagine how tired this is going to make you" and "Your son might have an attachment disorder that you'll never be able to overcome" and "How are you going to handle this and manage another move across the country in 18 months?" and "Imagine all the ways this might negatively impact your daughters."

Yesterday a song came on the radio. Many of you have probably heard it before. I've heard it before, but in the midst of my cynical belief that all Christian music sucks!, I don't think the lyrics ever penetrated my heart as they did yesterday. "The Voice of Truth," by Casting Crowns, says

"But the voice of truth tells me a different story

The voice of truth says 'Do not be afraid'

The voice of truth says 'This is for My glory'

Out of all the voices calling out to me

I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth."

So, I'm pushing through the fear and choosing to believe the voice of truth, the One who tells me to follow Him, to trust in Him, to pour out my life for Him so that I might find it. We are SO excited to finally start this journey, after months of research, waiting, asking, and listening.

Here we go!

Thanks to all of you for your prayers and support. I hope to write more over the next week, as there is still so much I want to share!

What do you fear? What do you hope for? What is the voice of truth telling you?