I’m sitting in a big comfy chair, slouching over my laptop, and thinking about an experience from a few days ago…

As I steered my cart down the next aisle of the neighborhood grocery store, I found myself behind a little old lady hunched over her shopping cart.  At least I thought she was a little old lady.  She was bent over, had a hump on her back, and was moving veeeery slowly.  The voices of my mother and grandmother simultaneously popped in my head, “Stand up straight, young lady!”  As I walked around the lady standing taller than I even knew I could, I realized that she was much younger than I had assumed.  There are probably no more than 16 or 17 years between our ages.

I’m sure that there were issues with her spine that led to the hump on her back and her posture, but I have found myself overtly aware of my posture and crazy curious about her life circumstances in the days since we crossed paths.  I keep thinking that maybe she had such a heavy load of burdens in life that she never could manage to stand up straight.

1 Peter 5:7 is a verse that I memorized so long ago that I can’t exactly remember when.  It says, “Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.”  I’m just going to be real.  Giving up my worries and cares is a lot easier said than done.

Remember the first time they let you mix stuff in chemistry lab?  Remember adding a little bit of this and a little bit of that and pouring a little out and then adding a little more?  Remember that excited/anxious feeling you had while you were waiting for the concoction in your beaker to explode (or at least foam over the top)?  Yep…  my body is a chemistry experiment.

In the last 2 years I’ve been on 5 different doses of synthroid.  In that same amount of time I’ve gained 30 pounds.  Lost it.  Then gained it back.  Plus an extra 5 for good measure.  Oh, I forgot to mention that the whole fat-Kaci/skinny-Kaci roller-coaster ride has happened without really changing how I eat or how often I exercise.

For the record, I kinda want to slap people who say that I had “the good kind of cancer”.  Yes, thyroid cancer is highly curable.  It also just happens to make you fat.  I’m a girl.  There is absolutely nothing “good” about losing all control over the size and shape of my body.

Thanks to the instability of military medicine, while on my 2 year roller coaster ride, I’ve had FOUR different endocrinologists.  Each of them has a different plan for how to make my weight and hormone levels stable and none have been successful. The one that I’m currently assigned to (but have never actually seen) called me last week to tell me that my hormone levels have jumped more than 300% since October.  He scheduled a neck ultrasound and then told me that he’ll be moving by the end of June, so I’ll have to see someone else if I actually want the results of said ultrasound.  Just lovely.

Like I said, I am a chemistry experiment.  And most days I feel like I’m in the hands of a bunch of high school sophomores who are waiting to watch me explode.

Then there’s Sofija.  For the last three years, I think I’ve done a fairly good job of focusing on all of her successes and maintaining hope that she will continue to progress emotionally, behaviorally, and academically.  The last 7 or 8 months have made the job of remaining positive and hopeful a little daunting.  While she continues to amaze us with her ability to acquire knowledge, her ability to control her anxiety, behaviors, and impulsivity, has scared the crap out of us.  She’s been suspended for kicking teachers in the head TWICE.  She’s run away more times than we can count.  She’s gotten out of her seat in the car and jumped on me while I was driving, nearly causing an accident. For the record, we have a new buckle guard that for now she can’t get out of.   She has broken a bedroom window with her hand, destroyed furniture, an ipad, an ipod touch, a laptop, and put more holes in her walls than I could possibly keep count of.  For a while she was stealing all of our electronics/phones and hiding them in her closet to play with during the night.  She went two whole months without sleeping more than 4 hours at night, which means nobody else in the house got sleep ~ we were a joyful bunch for those couple of months.

While in the middle of trying to find new strategies to help her AND give it to God, Sofija had IQ testing done at school.  She did not do well.  Everything about the testing was a setup for failure (psychologist she’d never met, in an unfamiliar environment, on a day where her anxiety was already through the roof), but it’s really hard to remind myself of that when I look at the score on the piece of paper that says “Intellectual Disability”.  In the middle of her huge regression she underwent all of her eligibility evaluations that allow her to receive special education services at school.  Not only did Dear Hubby and I get to sit and listen to the psychologist go over her very low IQ testing last week, we also had the pleasure of sitting down this week with the entire IEP team to hear how poorly she scored in almost every area.  She did amazing in spelling.  Don’t get me wrong, I was a spelling bee champ in elementary school and I watch the National Spelling Bee like LSU and Alabama are playing for the national championship in college football.  But in a world where spell-check and auto-correct are at your fingertips, I’m sure the ability to spell all of the ingredients in her dinner will be useful in helping her overcome all of her other challenges.

I’ve been composing a post for the last two weeks on the hard stuff you face when adopting a child who’s been neglected and institutionalized.  I hope to finish it this weekend.  I LOVE adoption.  I LOVE Sofija.  I love hearing about other families adopting and encouraging those who are in the process.  In my writing, my hope is that I find a way to be completely honest about the hard stuff without scaring the crap out of anyone who is in the adoption process.  I haven’t published said post because I’ve had a hard time finding that balance.

While processing the realities of my youngest baby girl’s limitations this week, I’ve been addressing graduation announcements and preparing a graduation celebration for my oldest baby girl.  I’m sure that I’ll dedicate a whole post to her in the next two weeks, but while I’m giving all my cares to God, I just needed to mention that it’s pretty stinkin’ hard to launch your child out into this big bad world.

In addition to my absent thyroid, Sofija’s issues and the pain of watching my first-born take orbit, my dear hubby is walking through a really tough season is his life.  He’s still dealing with the crappy situation/investigation that started at work 18 months ago and he’s nearing the end of his career without any real certainty about what comes next. The man has put on a uniform every morning since he was 14 years old.  When introducing himself his military rank always comes before his name.  Being a soldier is who he is.  Soon that will change.  I pray that the change is not too painful.  And God, while you’re giving him a painless transition to civilian life could you let the truth be known and redeem that whole investigation mess.  Thanks.

1 Peter 5:7  “Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.”

I know that God cares about me.  Heck, he healed me of cancer.  And, as my husband reminded me this week, my healing is forever, not just a few years.

I also know that I DO NOT want to be hunched over my shopping cart and having people think I’m much older than my actual age at any time in my future.  Which probably means I need to lighten the load I’m carrying on my back.

God, I’m giving up the following worries.  Do your thing and lighten my load.

1. the fat-Kaci/skinny-Kaci roller coaster ride and what’s causing my TSH to bounce around like a rubber ball

2. my littlest baby girl running away/hurting someone/hurting herself/hurting me

3. what that baby girl’s future looks like

4. my biggest baby girl finding the path in this world that God created for her

5. my hubby’s identity and future (which is kinda the same as my future)

6. this stinkin’ poison ivy that keeps spreading

Matthew 11:30 “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Yes, please.

God, feel free to lighten my load.

Sincerely,

A not so young lady who really wants to stand up straight for many years to come.

I was six or seven years old and shopping at a local department store with my Mom.  Although I was plenty old enough to know better, I climbed into the middle of a round clothes rack and crouched down by the floor.  My sister and I had decided to play hide-and-seek while my Mom shopped.  I can still hear the panic in my Mom’s voice as screamed out my first, middle, AND last name.  Eventually I decided that making my Mom calm down was more important than not being found my sister.  I recall a very tight grip on my arm as I was dragged walked out the door and across the parking lot.

The first time the reality of what my Mom experienced that day hit me was when my oldest daughter was three years old.  She had walked out the back door, across the common area behind our house, and was playing on a swing in a neighbor’s yard when I found her.  She also happened to be naked.  I had put her in the bathtub and went to the kitchen to work on dinner. As I gripped her arm tightly for the walk home she explained to me that she “couldn’t stay in the tub because that swing was so fun.”

In the brief moments between finding the bathtub empty and the backdoor open and then hearing her laugh from a hundred yards away, I could barely breathe.  My heart was in my stomach.  Or my throat.  I really can’t remember which.  It was just a horrible, horrible feeling.

What I did not know that day, is that a few years later I would be parenting two children with autism.  Children with autism wander.  Maybe not all of them, but many do.  Including mine.

In the last twelve years I have experienced the kind of panic that I was quite certain would stop  my heart.  I have lost my children for more than a few brief moments.  Sofija doesn’t just wander.  She runs.  Fast.  And… she doesn’t look back.

Every time I hear of a missing autistic child, it’s really hard for me to breathe.  Seriously.  REALLY HARD for me to breathe.  I feel the panic that mother is feeling.  I hug my babies tight and I pray hard that they never wander away from me again.

Last week a little girl named Mikaela wandered away from home.  Mikaela did not come home.  She will never come home.  My friend Lexi wrote an amazing post today that contains a link to a place to show some love to Mikaela’s family.  Please read it and pay attention.  Statistics say that there is a child in your life with autism.  They might be your neighbor, your niece, your nephew, a child at your church, or simply someone you see at the grocery store.  I’m asking you to keep your eyes open.  We live in a society where technology consumes our attention and makes it really easy to ignore what’s going on around us.  I’m just asking that you pay a little more attention and intervene if you see someone wandering.  Your action might just be the difference between life and death.

As I requested, my hubby and kiddos took me to the Chesapeake Bay for Mother’s Day.  The shoreline at the Bay was made up large table-like rocks… The kind of rocks that beg to be walked on.  As I hopped along the rocks in search of one worthy of bringing home, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks drowned out the sounds of my family.  I did not notice that Sofija was running along the rocks towards me until I heard her carton-a-day voice yell out, “Hey, Girl! Whatcha doin’?”  Between her new lingo and her recent demand for nachos for breakfast I think it’s safe to say she’s fully Americanized.

Without pausing to hear my answer to her question, she moved down to a rock that gave her access to the water.  As she bent and splashed her face I heard her say, “It’s okay, Sofija.  If you go in too deep, Tata will save you.”  And there it was.  My Mother’s Day gift.  A little girl with a broken beginning, who rarely shows trust or feels safe, gave me a gift I never thought to ask for.  “If you go in too deep, Tata will save you.”

I think I may have laughed out loud over the beauty in that one simple sentence.  And then I remembered what God did for the Israelites in Joshua chapter 3.  He told them to walk into a deep powerful river and then promised that once they got wet, He would hold the waters back and allow them to cross the river on dry ground.  After they stepped in and got wet, He dried out the riverbed and kept the water from overtaking them.  They went in deep and He rescued them. He then told them to gather stones from the riverbed to serve as a memorial to what He had done for them.

Between Summit and my Serbian stimmer, special needs adoption has been at the forefront of my mind.  I do not believe that everybody should adopt.  In fact, I don’t think anyone should adopt unless they know that they know that they are supposed to.  But that doesn’t excuse anyone who calls themselves a Christian from caring for orphans.  There are many ways to answer the Biblical mandate to “care for orphans who need help”.

Be it finances, clothing, furniture, or prayer, families who are in the process of adopting always need something.  Once they bring the child home, they need your time and energy.  Make a meal.  Buy a bag of groceries.  Offer to babysit so they can have a date night.  Take the other kids in the house out on a Slurpee, ice cream, bowling, or movie date.  Stop by and do a load of laundry or dishes (this is totally my love language).  Send the adoptive family a card of encouragement… they need encouragement more than you could imagine.  Just ask.  I have met or been in contact with more adoptive Moms than I can count who say that they feel completely isolated.  We just need to know that there are people in our lives who care and we need human interaction with someone other than our adopted child/ren.

If you’re saying, “All of those suggestions involve caring for orphans who are no longer orphans and their adoptive families.  What about caring for orphans while they are still orphans?”, there are sooo many ways to do just that.  I’m not going to endorse any particular organization, but a simple Google search will lead you to countless  ways to provide food, clothing, medical care, dental care, and education for orphans.  Call your local foster care office and see what their needs are.  Locally I found that there is a need for baby items and people who are willing to sponsor foster children who are going to college.  Sending a couple of care packages a year and including an older teen in your holiday plans could change a life.  Become a mentor.   Just find something to do and do it.

And for those of you who DO feel called to special needs adoption, don’t be afraid.  Step into the water.  Your Father WILL take care of you. You’re not going to drown.  As scary as it may seem, you will look at the water all around you and realize that you are walking on dry ground.  Who knows? Maybe you’ll soon find yourself gathering your own stones.  http://vimeo.com/65652954# http://vimeo.com/65652954#

Throughout the evening the words, “This has been my favorite Mother’s Day.” have escaped my lips more than once.  As I speak those words, they are true.  In between the times they’ve been spoken, this has been my most painful Mother’s Day.

This is my 7th Mother’s Day without a mother.  The pain has come in waves.  I look at pictures of my Mom and listen to recordings of her voice, but the teasers are not enough.  I long to feel her arms wrapped around me.  To feel her cheek pressed against my own.  To feel the warmth of her breath and to inhale her scent.  I want to hold her hands and look into her eyes and thank her for all the things she did right.  Thank you, Suzi, for the voice in my head.  Thank you for blue-green eyes, the no-gray-hair gene, and mad cooking skills.  Thank you for instilling in me compassion for every human being and the passion to make this world a little kinder towards every human being.  Thank you for loving God and His Word and always encouraging me to do the same.  Thank you for my foundation.

Aside from the pain of missing my mother, today has been incredible!  My hubby and kiddos asked what I’d like to do for Mother’s Day.  Without hesitation I said, “Go fishing.”  I also added that I didn’t want any cards or notes and that I didn’t want them to cook for me at home.  Cleaning out my grandmother’s house last summer gave me some very strong opinions on cards and notes and personalized thingies.  When my sister and I cleaned out my Mom’s things we moved the bulk of her sentimental stuff to my grandmother’s.  Which means that last summer we had the painful responsibility pleasure of deciding what to do with two lifetimes of personal stuff.  The majority of the stuff ended up in the trash.  Every anniversary card from my grandfather’s second cousin once removed and birth announcement from someone who worked with my Mom at a temp job she held in 1976, was tossed in a trash bag as I swallowed a capsule full of guilt.

So… I requested that all Mother’s Day sentiments be made out loud.  In a world where the majority of communication happens via text, email, and instant messaging, I personally think we should all try to say a few more things out loud.  I tell my kids all the time that they shouldn’t type anything in a message that they wouldn’t say to a person face to face.  Be it a character assault or a proclamation of love, I firmly believe that it should never be typed if you would not have the backbone to look someone in the eyes and say it.  Guess what?  My kids actually like me.  They told me so.  Their words made me happy and nobody will experience an ounce of guilt over throwing those words in the trash forty years from now.

Breakfast in bed.  Missing my Mom.  Two bags of chocolate.  Hugs.  Kisses.  Church.  Roses.  New fishing license.  Perfect weather.  Several hours of tossing lines (and a teenager’s iphone) into the Chesapeake Bay.  Missing my Mom.  Amazing seafood dinner.  Mint chip ice cream.  Bitter-Sweetness.  Blessed.

In 1990, on the Saturday before Mothers’ Day, a group of birth mothers established a day to celebrate the fact that they had given birth to children who are being mothered by someone else.  I am fortunate to have many birth mothers in my life who deserve to be honored today… Women who chose life…  Women who made the choice to give Mothers’ Day to someone else.

In 2005, a woman in Belgrade, Serbia, joined the ranks of these women.  A lady named Zorka who had previously given birth to three sons and a daughter, chose life for a little girl who would become my daughter.  My hope is that some day I will have the opportunity to thank her for that choice, that we will share a weekend of celebrating motherhood.

Thank you, Zorka, for the gift of our daughter.  Thank you for giving her life.  Thank you for choosing to let someone else mother her.

To Zorka and all the other brave birth moms in my life, Happy Birth Mother’s Day.