Day 7: Tardy and Ridiculous Ice Bucket Challenge

So... I know that we missed the height of the ice bucket challenge mania, but ALS still exists and we still wanted to help fight such a horrible disease.  We haven't personally known anyone taken by ALS, but we watched our friends, David and Sue Whiting, lose their close friend, Patrick, and it was heartbreaking. If you want to be inspired, challenged, laugh and then do the ugly cry, watch Patrick give the last sermon of his life.

I know that there was a lot of debate over whether or not the ice bucket challenge videos were the best way to raise awareness and money for ALS research. And I know there was also some outrage over the waste of clean water.  

So, my response to nay-sayers would be A) it's the best we've done so far, so let's do what works until there is a better plan.  You can't usually bank on people just caring, so it's okay to use humor or personal testimonies to inspire people to give.  That is the whole point behind #AdamsActs and I'm fine with it. And B) really? People toss one bucket of water for a good cause and it's gotta be a thing?  Let's focus on the long shower crisis (that my husband is personally responsible for) or *gasp* the water balloon toss epidemic sweeping children's birthday parties across the nation.  It's not that I don't take seriously the lack of clean water in many countries... but I don't think that crisis is caused (or prevented) by deciding whether or not to frivolously toss a bucketful of water.  Plus, our church has raised a significant amount of money to provide clean water to the village of Maramara in Chad.  Sooooo, just enjoy the video and donate to help find a cure for people with ALS, like Patrick, and write a check to World Concern to turn that criticism into clean water!

Day 7, our #icebucketchallenge

This first intro video is absurd and a little irreverent only because I was uninformed at the time (about what foundation to donate to, about our past presidents actual names (there is no Jr.), and also about the size of my head and how bendable my ears are.)

This video includes Harper challenging our neighbor (the one who just had back surgery and played dead on Day 6.)  Also, you have to lay on your side halfway through to see it properly.  (*please do not miss this opportunity to witness the baby aircycling at record breaking speeds.)

Donation made in memory of my big brother, Adam, who wasted a shameful amount of water during countless super soaker fights. Inside our house. 

Days 5 & 6: Narcoleptic Neighbors and Train Rides All Around

I forgot to mention that on weekends, I sometimes won't blog. #walkofshame

I assure you, though, that I am still doing #AdamsActs each day, and am continually blown away by all the ideas people are coming up with!  It is particularly challenging to blog over the weekends because all the kids are home and it is  mass chaos  our treasured family time.

Our friends from Finland are still here visiting, so among our intentional acts of kindness, I will include hosting a foreign family of four and showing them the American way of life.  Staying with a family of seven probably isn't giving them an accurate picture of normal American life, not to mention the fact that I haven't done anything normal since 1988.  Still, we have opened our home to them and I do think that counts as a kindness even though it is much more a blessing to us than it could possibly be to them.

For Day 5, we wanted to give Minna and Osmo and their kids an idea of what life looks like in a large Italian family, and we wanted to spread the love to our neighbor who recently had back surgery.  So, we went to my in-laws where Tom and my father-in-law taught the kids how to make fresh, homemade pasta, and we then delivered some to my neighbor.  The kids  ate so much raw flour  were so helpful and really interested in learning the art of cooking authentic Italian cuisine.

The delivery of the pasta was a little anti-climactic because my neighbor played dead when I knocked on the door.  No, I don't mean he just ignored the doorbell... I mean I saw him through the window as I walked up, and when I knocked, he fell asleep.  Over the years we have had such a range of reactions from our acts of kindness.... some people get irate, like we are trying to take something from them, rather than give.  Some people feel guilty and want to reciprocate instantly, and many people simply refuse the kindness.  I have never had anyone just fake sleep through my attempt to be kind however.  It was a refreshing change.

The next day, he did bring over some fresh produce and thanked us though, so fortunately we know he was playing dead, and wasn't, like, actual dead.   

For Day 6, we took the Finns to the Strong Museum of Play, and I treated several kids to free train rides.  This was underwhelming, but received, which was an improvement from the year that parents refused to accept the carousel rides my kids were offering to pay for with their own, hard-earned, precious baby money!  So, all in all Day 5 & 6 was pretty smooth!

I will blog again tonight with today's #AdamsActs, and promise that I will not fall off the wagon for more than a day or so over the weekends.  In the meantime, I thank you all so much for the things you have been doing to serve and love others.  One week ago, the hashtag #AdamsActs didn't even exist.  Now, it is trending.  Just kidding, I don't even know what trending means.  But, now the hashtag does exist, and if you click on it... it is unbelievable to see how many posts and pictures there are.  

It is a good reminder of how God has already equipped us to do His work... we don't need to "be" better or "arrive" to some place in life in order to be used by Him.  We just have to start where we are and do something.  It can be so small, but with the right heart behind it, it can have huge implications.  So keep up the kind work!  

Day 4: The World's Breast Chicken Wings

#AdamsActs are getting wild.  We've got kindnesses happening in Kenya and the Netherlands.  Waitresses in Cambodia are getting thank you notes.  People are giving away absurd tips at restaurants, paying for lunches and coffees, delivering treats to strangers and friends in need.  It's amazing.  To date, I think I'm technically the only one to deliver an eggplant, but still.... I think it's safe to say that this is officially a movement!  An international one, no less!! 

International is actually a pretty good theme for Day 4 since we spent the day in another country (Canada) with actual world travelers.

After fifteen years, I reunited with one of my dearest friends from high school. Minna was an exchange student from Finland and we hit it off almost as soon as we met. It was the first time I really understood that sarcasm is a universal language.  

We have kept in touch, but have not seen each other since the summer after we graduated.  Between us, we now have two husbands, seven children, endless reserves of patience and wisdom, yet neither of us have aged a single bit.  It's remarkable really. 

So for Day 4, we treated our beautiful Finnish friends to all that Upstate New York has to offer.  Basically: overpriced parking, Buffallo wings, and horrifying weather. 

My oldest four at Niagara Falls (Harper, Annalee, Marlie and little London Claire.)

A horrible picture of Jay, just to prove that he was also there. (As the youngest in a large family, I know he will shame me for not including him, so here ya go future Jay... here is a picture of the one time you were eating something besides your own hearing aids.)

My beautiful Minna after all these years and her sweet girl!

At the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, NY - home of the original Buffalo Chicken Wings.  And before you judge, Harper was not trying to kiss the bosom of a statue, that's just as far as his mouth could reach. 

Okay, now you can judge, because this looks pretty bosom-specific. 

#inappropriateactsofkindness and an internationally good time were had by all. 

Day 3: Baby's First Eggplant

There is absolutely no earthly pain more acute than enduring the loss of your child.  I am not downplaying the significance or grief of other losses, but in my estimation, nothing compares to losing one of your babies. Reading along and sharing these posts, and performing even the smallest kindness in Adam's memory, not only pleases the God that my brother loved and served, but it is an immeasurable kindness to my mother. Knowing that her son's life, while senselessly brief, continues to shine light in a dark world provides a comfort and healing that I haven't seen her experience until we started doing 31 Days of Kindness three years ago.

#AdamsActs are reaching much further than you all could possibly know.  I have received countless private messages from people who have been overwhelmed and inspired by you all, and have found healing, hope and fresh resolve as they face deep and excruciating losses. It is not my place to tell all their stories, but for Day 3, I will tell you one remarkable story of loss and new life.

My friend Kristy is a warrior.  She is the kind of warrior who endured life hardships long before she faced the worst trial of her life, the loss of her beautiful son, Conner.  Today should be his 15th birthday.  Kristy has spent the years since Conner went to heaven bringing awareness to the nightmare of childhood cancer, and all the precious kiddos that are forced to battle for their lives each year. She has used her voice to try to prevent other families from suffering the way she and her husband and daughter have suffered.

Kristy dreamed (privately and out loud to anyone who would listen!) of having another child.  For quite a while it did not seem like it was in the cards for Kristy and Nate, but God sort of stepped in and blew her mind.  She finally had the pregnancy that she had been hoping for, and on top of that, found out that she was having another baby boy.  When I woke up and saw that Kristy went into labor this morning, on Conner's birthday... deciding what to do for Day 3 was an absolute no-brainer.

I put together a gift basket of completely unrelated items.  There were a couple little baby boy sleepers, some apples, pears, freshly-baked blueberry muffins, two squash and an eggplant.  Not your typical "welcome to the world" baby gift... buuuuut... I don't really want to talk about that anymore.  Believe it or not, the contents of said basket were not the weirdest part.  My lovely and kind-to-the-core friend, Shana, offered to deliver the basket for me as her act of kindness for the day.  I knew Kristy was having a home birth and I thought "oh perfect, because it wasn't like I was gonna pop in mid-birth to say 'hi' anyways."

Poor Shana. She pulls up to the house and people were outside on the porch!  She didn't know any of them, and she didn't even know Kristy's name, so she just got out (holding the world's dumbest, most confusing gift basket) and just says "Is someone havin' a baby in there!?"

I mean, who doesn't want to be presented with eggplant by a stranger on the porch while they are giving birth?  So, I will consider this a win.  Because Shana and I make dreams come true.

I know people say stupid religious cliches all the time, but when I say that God orchestrated every detail of this timing, I absolutely believe that to be true. These two boys will most likely be born on the same exact day... and while no child could absolutely never replace Kristy's firstborn baby boy, it is remarkable to know that they will have this gift of new life on the same day that they have longed to celebrate life the most.  The reason I believe this is more than a cliche?  Because God is in the business of bringing life from death.  He knows all about losing your only Son.  He knows about redemption. 

He invented it.

So, for Day 3, I couldn't resist sharing this beautiful story.  This whole month of kindness began because I didn't want to curl into my grief.  Instead of curling in, I wanted to open up and out.  And that kind of vulnerability and stretching reopened some wounds at first... but ultimately it leads to lasting healing.  Sure, the scars are there, and sometimes they look jagged and raw and even a little ugly.  But, if you really see them for what they are, they are God's handwriting, and the message He writes is that we survived, that we exist, that we can heal.  This month means nothing if we don't have to stretch and open up and struggle through the pain in order to survive and exist and heal.  And although we will never stop wanting back what we lost, we will have uncurled ourselves just enough to make room for new life, new gifts, new mercies.  

In loving memory of Conner, the big brother.

Day 2: Janitor's Pet

11,699

That's how many views Adam's story had in 24 hours.

If you missed it, you can go back and view Day 1 here.  But according to that number... it doesn't seem like many of you missed it! I mean... I can't even believe how many people shared the link, and how many have committed to participating this year.  We have people doing #AdamsActs in India, Cambodia and Denmark!
It is amazing to see the outpouring of love and support, but also the enthusiasm and creativity many of you have shown in Days 1 and 2.

I should have had one of you  over-achievers  awesome participants do a guest post for me, since I woke up with some sort of migrainey-heavy-limb-wobbly-stomach thing.  That was awesome.  So for my first act of the day, I  begged  casually asked my husband to stay home from work and do quite literally, everything  some stuff for me.  It was not my proudest moment, but he agreed because he is  also an overachiever  just such a nice guy.  And he brought me soup.

I pulled my act together in time to divide and conquer the evening's activities.  Tom took the girls to ballet while I went to Parent Night at the school.  This was where Day 2 went down.

My kids have terrific teachers and great schools.  Every year we try to do something special for the teachers and the assistants in their classes for Christmas and at the end of the year.  But, I always feel badly for the behind-the-scenes people who work just as hard to make the schools run.  I make sure to develop relationships with the secretaries and the cafeteria attendants and the playground helpers... because they have thankless jobs and let's be honest, they probably get zero Christmas presents, but still I never feel like it's enough.

Adam was the type of kid who went out of his way to make people feel good about themselves.  In the past couple of years, many of Adam's peers came out of the woodwork to share stories about how Adam looked out for others.  One story involved Adam using some complicated wrestling move to restrain a bully who was picking on kids, or stopping in the hallway after a school dance to ask the super shy girl for one slow dance before the night was over.  He made people feel seen, like they mattered.

So, I am in a flu-like zombie haze, with a tall stack of handwritten cards, wandering the hallways filled with parents.  None of the other moms seemed to be sweating and/or nauseous, and definitely nobody was slipping (what appeared to be) love notes into the janitor's closet.  I regretted the red envelopes when the principal walked past me as I was panic-shoving my stack of Valentines into the school nurse's mailbox.  I don't know what came over me, but when I saw the principal approaching I felt like I was in trouble.  (Perhaps this was because my last interaction with her was regarding my 6 year old son, a big fat lie, and a can of pepper spray that just materialized in his backpack, by no fault or foreknowledge of his own).  So, like any normal adult woman, I threw my love letters like confetti and got outta there.

I am just praying that these notes of thanks and encouragement make it into the hands of the employees who feel the most overlooked and under-appreciated. It is only just now occurring to me that the principal probably feels both of those things after the way I behaved... but what can ya do?  Maybe next time I see her, I will ask her to slow dance in the hallway. #AdamsActs

I had to share this one #AdamsActs from a stranger who found my post on Instagram and was inspired by Adam's life.  The artist asked for me to choose a word that described Adam, and I believe the rocks will be left for strangers to find.  I couldn't simply sum him up in a word, because he wasn't about himself... he was about everyone else.  So I cheated and asked for two words. 

The Hardest Story I Never Told: #AdamsActs

Hello Day 1.

If I had to rewrite this story in a fresh way each October, it would be such a Herculean task that it would singlehandedly stop me from committing to this project for the third year in a row.  Still, each year we have new followers, and new participants, who deserve to know the whole story.  So, I will start at the beginning... but it won't be some shiny, "newly revised edition!" 

I just...can't. 

Instead, I will take you back to the first time I had the guts to tell my brother's story so publicly, and I will trust my former self to know what she was doing.  

For this October, I am asking and encouraging whatever participation you can muster. Share the links, do any act of kindness you can, no matter how small.   I truly believe that the things we do this month would be acts of kindness that Adam would have spent a lifetime doing.  To follow along and contribute to our collective journey, please hashtag #AdamsActs in pictures and posts so we can see how far reaching an impact our kindnesses can make. 

Thank you for allowing me the privilege to share my family's story with you. 

----

I am going to tell you a story. 

I haven't done this before, told this story, so detailed and so publicly.  But, I am going to try something big this month, and I think I need to tell this story in order to do it well.  So, here goes nothin...

It was Halloween night many years ago, and my 17 year old brother, Adam H. Provencal, was driving home from the Regional Championship Soccer game.  He was a senior in high school and the captain of the soccer team, and this victory was worth celebrating, and it was news worth spreading for our small Michigan town.

When my brother (and his friend Mike) were driving home and passed some of their friends out playing some harmless Halloween pranks, it was the perfect time to spread the news.  So Adam pulled the car over and was telling his friends about the big victory.  I have no idea what my brother was thinking or feeling in that moment but, my guess, is freedom.  I imagine a boy - crazy about sports, working so hard to maintain his 4.0 GPA in mostly advanced placement classes, editor-in-chief of the nationally recognized school paper, and all-around nice guy - and the pressure that that brings on a kid.  I imagine him in this moment, and the hard work (for now) is done and has paid off with a regional championship.  And he's free.  He is young and free, and he wants to tell to his friends.

So, he pulls over and he and his friends are joking around and talking and hanging out, and they are young and free in this moment.

The whimsical youth of the moment ends when a homeowner comes out and is irate about the pranks and, though my brother had not been involved in them, he had the car and perhaps that made him seem to be the ringleader somehow.  I don't really know if that was why Adam felt the need to go to the door or not, but he did.  He decided he would walk up to the door, to apologize for being there and to offer to clean up the toilet paper in the yard, and he no longer felt young and free.  He was probably terrified that he was going to get in trouble.  So, he dutifully walked up to the man's door and knocked twice. 

The man did not open the door and hear him out, he did not yell at Adam to leave, he did not call the police. When my 17 year old brother knocked on the door that night to have a hard conversation, he had a baby face and scrawny limbs and braces in his mouth.  And when Adam knocked twice on that door, the man gave no warning before he pulled the trigger of his shotgun, sending one, single blast through the front door. 

One bullet.

One bullet changed many lives, some lives even devastated.  But only one life was ended.  My only brother, my parents only son, my hero, my friend... the only person strong enough to jump on a trampoline with me on his shoulders, and the boy who led me to Christ, and taught me to dance like M.C. Hammer, and to be funny enough to joke my way out of trouble.  He was gone. 

His murderer was in and out of jail after two years, for a boy's life taken in a rage over some harmless pranks.

Needless to say, when October rolls around I get stuck.  It is almost like my body involuntarily braces for a trauma.  The crisp fall air, the smell of leaves and bonfires... they are all beautiful reminders of fall, and nightmarish triggers that put my physical and emotional self on high alert, tragedy-ready. 

So, here we are, heading into the 31 days of October, and I am 33 years old... outliving my big brother by 16 years.  I need to do something.  I need to be productive and I need to spend these 31 days focusing outwardly, or I will implode with my seasonal misery and depression.  So, I accepted a challenge, a plan designed to get out of our own heads and focus on other people.  31 days of kindness toward others.

I want to commit myself to honor all the good Adam would have done to the glory of God if his life had not been cut short.  I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.  Well, here is my chance... 33 is pretty grown up, so here goes nothing. 

For Day One I am chaperoning my daughter's field trip, which may not sound like much, but as a mom of five small kids... doing almost anyhin with just one of them requires a lot of planning!  

In addition to that, I am cooking dinner for a friend of ours tonight who has had a rough couple of months.  He watched, first-hand, as his best friend's life ended too soon. I cannot fathom that.  But my brother's friend, Mike, and many others can.  They watched my brother's beautiful life end right before their eyes.  

It just so happens that our friend coming for dinner tonight, is also named Mike. So, Day One is dedicated to the two Mike's. Mike West and Michael VanTubergen, and to all of Adam's friends from Eaton Rapids and Grand Haven who miss him as much as we do. 

Well, almost. 

Adios Unemployment

Sooo remember that job I wrote about in my last post?  Yeah, Tom didn't get that job.  You may recall that I said it was an "unoffical" offer because he still needed to take a personality test... well, about that... they discovered that Tom did not, in fact, have an aggressive, used car salesman trapped inside the body of a school teacher.  This only came as a surprise to the guy giving the test.  It was a low blow for him though, to not get a job that paid so little it might as well have been a stack of monopoly dollars.

I can't say that it was a crushing disappointment, because the job probably would have been Tom's personal nightmare, and since the compensation literally qualified us for low-income housing... it wasn't too hard to part with the opportunity.  Still, it was terrifying news because at that time, we had no other long-term prospects.  Shortly after Tom's good nature was unearthed and, ultimately, rejected, he got call about a good, full-time job in his field. This one paid in actual American dollars, and enough of them to stay in regular-income housing.  Tom went in for an interview, wearing his finest, Jude Law suit (which I think made all the difference, thank me very much for forcing him into such a narrow pant.)  He nailed the interview and got the job!

He is now working for Monroe Community College as an Instructional Designer.  I think he builds online courses, or trains faculty to use their online courses, or he sells used cars... I don't really know.  While I don't completely  care  understand what the job entails, I do know that after EIGHT MONTHS, our Adventures of Unemployment have finally come to a close. 

Now... for the first time in nine years, Tom is working outside the home.  

Not in pajama pants.

It took me these first couple of weeks to trust this new job.  The last one broke my heart, and I didn't know if I could ever love again ya know.  But, this new job, is different.  I think this one really cares, it's not like all the other jobs, that just love ya and leave ya. This job is... mature, not afraid to settle down and make a commitment. I think that this job might actually be the one.

This has been an unbelievable relief.  Still, I feel like one of those little old ladies who survived the Great Depression.  It's like I know intellectually that the war is over... but I'm still gonna rinse out all my sandwich baggies and save them, just in case.

I should say that it is a relief to everyone except for London.  

At only four years old (and an early-blooming rageaholic) she is not able to comprehend or be thrilled with the new arrangement.  We felt like we were sitting her down for the divorce talk. We had to explain that "some mommies and daddies get dressed and leave the house every day," and "we know it's going to be hard, but it's just how it has to be" and "it's not her fault and nothing that she did to cause it" that "he will always love her and he will come back."  She was crushed.  When Tom comes downstairs in his work clothes it breaks her heart all over and she looks at him with shock and betrayal and says "Again!?"  Then she grabs his legs and won't let go. Then I start in and  I grab his legs and it's all very dramatic.

We are adjusting at home though and Tom is thriving in his new job.  His coworker described the situation as Disney movie-esqe because he is such a good fit for their team.  Being part of a far-fetched animated romance has always been a professional aspiration of Tom's, so that just confirms that we are in the right place.  #dreamscometrue



In order of appearance, Tom's co-workers, (the beast and the topless gentleman on the rock just photo-bombed) and then that's Tom, crouching in celebration, on piccolo.

So, there it is.  I've finally come to a place where I believe this is happening enough to say it out loud.  TOM HAS A JOB!!!  I am so proud of him and thankful to all of you who supported us, and encouraged us during this time.  God has been so faithful and  even though I wanted to slap you people when you would tell me that  I couldn't be more thankful for all the people who  said it like I hadn't heard it before  helped keep that truth in front of me.  Because it is true... right when you get to that rock-bottom place (ya know, that place where your husband kinda-gets a job, and then his pleasant and gentle personality comes in and gets him fired)  that is when God comes in and says "alright, alright, let go of his legs, I've got this covered."

Livin' La Vida Poor Folks: Adventures Below the Poverty Line

I have struggled to write lately.  I wouldn't call it "Writer's Block," per se.  If I had to call it something, it would be more like "Writer's Depression" or, more accurately, it would be something like "Writer's Life Circumstances are Sure to Cause Reader's Depression, So She is Doing You A Solid By Keeping All This Crap to Herself."  I'm talking that kind of writer's block.

 I love you, and I want to spare you from (what might be contagious) stress, so I have held off writing for a bit, but I can't go on like this any more.  I must  selfishly spill my guts  creatively release my experiences so others can  laugh at my misery  pray for us.

It has officially been 7 months since my husband was laid off.

I sort of hate writing about our Adventures of Unemployment (which you can catch up on here and here) because I have learned a lot about men during this time.  I have learned, for example, that men do not like losing their jobs.  It does something weird to a man.  It makes him doubt himself in ways that are totally unrelated to budget cuts at work.  I have learned that even the most emotionally stable man will try to usurp an otherwise-claimed position in the family as "sensitive, basket case who takes everything personally."  (It has been hard to hold my ground in this particular area, but I have served as resident Crazy Person for ten years in this family, and I was not about to pass the torch over because of a job he didn't even like.)  There is only room for one person  per marriage to be "El Sensitivo" as we call it, and that is - and shall always remain - me.  (Nice try though, babe.  You gave me a run for my money, but ain't nobody got baggage like your unstable wife.  The torch is mine.)

All that to say... I hate to write so publicly about something that makes my husband feel so small, and causes him so much pain.  So, before you read on, I ask you to raise your right hand and solemnly promise to shut up and go away if you are a judgmental b-hole who thinks that this couldn't happen to anyone, even the most strapping, manliest of providers.   And will you swear to understand that I am not dogging on my man, nor feeling sorry for myself (even though I totally do), nor that I am looking for a handout?  And will you also swear to leave me only nice comments, and maybe fine candies on my doorstep?

You do?  Good, then here's the scoop.  The past seven months have been absolutely craptastic.  Don't get me wrong, there were good parts too:

• We have learned how to live on less.  (But let's be honest, with 5 kids - two of which came with insane adoption expenses - we were already pretty good at living on less.  
• We were able to get some home projects done, because my manly provider is not only totally employable, he is also handy with... whatever tools one would use to be handy.
• We discovered that our efforts to raise kids who are neither spoiled nor entitled has paid off.  In fact, Marlie's reaction to us tightening our financial belts?  "It's not like you were buying us stuff when daddy did have a job, we can't even tell!"
• We have been so blessed and cared for by people during this time, it borders on ridiculous.  People have sent us on an anniversary getaway, given gift cards for gas or groceries, let us borrow a vacuum when ours broke down, offered the use of cars when ours broke down, taped an envelope full of cash to our door and ran away, given us toys to give the kids for Christmas and birthdays (which, according to Marlie's comment, is an entirely new experience for them altogether.)  It has been humbling and humiliating and also a greater relief than I could possibly tell you. 
• We have grown in our faith, learning to trust God to provide, and learning that He often does that through the people He has surrounded us with. 
• Despite all the stress and an exorbitant amount of time spent together, we find that we still like each other.

So, it hasn't been 100% craptastic... but enough percent for me to be done with this season.  After 7 months of imagining that moment when Tom got a job offer, an offer finally came.  Now, before I go on, I feel obligated to explain how thankful we are for the opportunity, and that I know that Tom is going to do very well in this new position, and I understand that when one switches professions, one might have to start at the  very bottom of the heap  ground floor and work his way up.  But, here's how it all went down... we get the call with the unofficial offer, and I sob.  And I sob.  And I don't stop sobbing for 24 hours.  I'm like a large babychild just sobbing for a day straight.  It is a miracle that nobody slapped me.  

I just had this vision that, after all this time, God would handsomely reward us with an income that would allow our family of 7 to move to a house with a second bathroom.  Instead, it would be just enough to buy one half-bathroom.  

No, not a house.  JUST the half-bath.  Standing alone.  In a field.

The offer puts us in a slightly worse financial position than we have been in while on unemployment.  Rochester, NY is not exactly a booming metropolis right now (thank you digital age for making Kodak perpetually wet itself for the last 10 years), soooo... ground floor jobs with a great company are actually really hard to come by.  Still, it was not the grand moment I was waiting for, where I pictured an invisible fan blowing literal hundred dollar bills around Tom as he told me the good news.  After admitting that, it is suddenly clear why God ignored that particular wish.  

So, here we are.  Ground floor.  And now that the sobbing has slowed to spontaneous waves, I am finding that this isn't the worst place to be.  Tom has some personality tests to take before the official offer and negotiations take place, but no matter how tight things get, I really do know that we will be fine.  It will take a little time for Tom to work his way up the ladder and get some commission going, but in the meantime, God does provide, sometimes in very humbling and even humiliating ways... but until that fan is blowing Benjamins around Tom's head, we shall live below the poverty line with as much faith and finesse and gratitude as we can fit in a houseless half-bath.

No More "No Problem"

As long as it has taken me to get myself together to post an update, it took significantly less time to be slammed back into reality when we returned home from our trip to Jamaica.  For those of you who didn't know we went, and are wondering how we could possibly be so negligent as to take a trip to paradise while we have no income, you can read that back story here.  Coming home from paradise was sort of like getting sprayed in the face with pepper spray.

I say that figuratively, of course, but I also mean that literally... but more on that later.

Jamaica was perfection.  We had no idea how much we needed that time away, but when we found ourselves in bed asleep by 8:30 on the first night, we realized how exhausted we have been.  I realized that in the past nine months we brought home our fifth child - and a number of unexpected medical concerns we had not anticipated - and although that was a huge adjustment, we changed almost nothing.  We did not slow down, we did not adjust our lifestyle to make room for the countless appointments with specialists, or for physical and speech therapy, or for learning sign language.  We didn't stop serving at church or volunteering at schools, we haven't cleared our schedule in any way.  

In fact, that is pretty true of the last ten years.  We had Annalee five weeks after our wedding, and that kicked off the whirlwind of a life we now consider normal.

So, when we collapsed into our bed that first night in Jamaica, we slept like elderly people.  

Our time consisted of eating and lounging and basking in the kind of sunlight that never quite reaches all the way to the frozen tundra of upstate New York.  We experienced the energizing effects of sleep, coffee while it is still hot, uninterrupted conversation, and massive amounts of all natural, equator-style Vitaman D.  Jamaica is a natural anti-depressant.

This was actually our view.  This really happened.  Places like this exist.

I cam back comparing everything to the idyllic time we had in Jamaica.

"Babies don't gag on their own hearing aids in Jamaica!"

or

"Jamaica would never make us pay bills!"

or

"I would never drop one thousand brussel sprouts in the parking lot in Jamaica!"

or

"I never had pepper spray in my eyeballs in Jamaica!"

You get the point.  We miss Jamaica.

Don't get me wrong... we had our troubles in Jamaica too.  I would drop brussel sprouts in Jamaica, because no matter where I am or what I am holding, I spill/drop/ruin it.  In fact, I spilled my coffee every single morning in Jamaica.  The difference was that I was a slob in JAMAICA!  Not only did the spilling continue as normal, but so did my general absent-mindedness.  I left my phone by the pool, thinking Tom had it, and when I came back (hours later) to look for it... it was already being sold on the Jamaican black market.  But, I was a an absent-minded victim-who-kinda-had-it-coming in JAMAICA!  The bad luck wasn't just me, Tom had his own absent-minded trouble.

Like when he lost his precious baby.

His precious baby is his I-Pod that he got for free 100 years ago.  It was the first one Apple ever made.  It is like the Model T of I-Pods and he got it for free by signing up for a ridiculous amount of junk mail.  He loves it, it is precious to him, and it is the size of an actual human baby, and it is full of music he considers a "variety" despite the fact that it is 90 giggawatts of identical sounding songs.

When Tom shook the sand out of his towel, absent-mindedly, you can imagine his shock when he realized that his precious baby was sailing in slow-motion through the air into the deep end of the swimming pool, headphones and all.  I have never seen him move so quickly or methodically.  He scrambled with the purpose and precision of an EMT with his eyes steadied on his precious baby.  He checked the buttons, looking for a pulse... when finding nothing, he proceeded to perform CPR.  The mouth-to-earphone jack resusitation looked exactly as it would if it were an actual living thing.  He pressed his mouth to any possible opening where water could have leaked in, he sucked water out, he spat, he put his ear to it to listen, then he used his finger tips to gently press on it's little Apple chest.  He repeated this scene until I had to pull him away, and calmly explain to his that it was over.  It was too late.

He, naturally, could not accept this.  He spent days, baking it in the hot Jamaican sun, inside a bag of uncooked rice, convinced that this would create the most absorbing ecosystem in which to dry out his precious baby. He refused to even attempt to plug it in until he was sure it was thoroughly dried out, and when he finally gathered the courage to charge it up and powere it on... there was nothing but the faintest error message, and no other sign of life.

Tom wept.

That last part was a lie.  But, it was still very traumatic for him.  Almost as traumatic as having to leave Jamaica and come back to real life.

We came back to snow.  We came back to the news that Tom, sadly, did not get the job we were hoping for at RIT.  And, inexplicably, we came back to 8 different versions of why we discovered a can of pepper spray in Harper's backpack, (which got all over my face.)

It was blow after blow.  And it burned, both our hearts, and our eyes, nose and throat.

None of this would happen in Jamaica, it's true, but we also came back to a lot of good things and those, too, would not be in Jamaica.  My sweet girls, and their  almost clear  fair, fair skin... that would never survive in Jamaica.  And my darling boys... does Jamaica make high quality hearing aids to gag on?  Is Jamaican pepper spray as potent and as readily available for six year old boys as, apparently, it needs to be for my son?  I doubt it.  I don't think Jamaica has all of that to offer.

Sure, for now, Rochester is the land of gray skies and unemployment, but... it's also home.  And I have faith that God has us here for a purpose, and once I regain the use of my pepper-riddled eyes, I will be able to look around and see that my wild and crazy life, is just a different kind of paradise.

Honeymooners.

I am sitting at the airport, about to board a plane for my honeymoon. I know that makes zero sense because we have been married for ten whole years this month, but I am not making this up.

Some friends and family all pitched in to surprise us with an anniversary getaway.  Apparently the original plan was to send us away for a few days, maybe even get us some place far away enough to take a flight!  Well... Thanks to the overwhelming generosity of our wonderful friends, sisters, brothers, parents, and family, we are going to JAMAICA for a whole week!  

I mean...

A) we named our second-born Marlie, a more feminine spelling of Marley, as in Bob Marley, as in "ya mon."   So this is pretty much a dream come true.

B) we did not really have a honeymoon.  For those that don't know this already, our Annalee was born five weeks after our wedding.  (It is a little depressing when you can't travel too far for your honeymoon because you have to stay close to your gynecologist.) So, you get the point.  It was winter, I was large and in charge, and our few days in Niagara Falls... Not hot.

C) we have had a wild ten years.  Five kids - 3 horrific pregnancies, 2 emotional adoptions, we've lost loved ones, we've moved five times, bought our first home, and fought about whether or not burning said home down is really the best way to declutter.  The past year alone we have had a failed adoption placement, a successful adoption placement, many unforeseen challenges with Jay's health and development, and that seems like a good time for Tom to get laid off.

After all that, then the 31 Days of Kindness (which are wonderfully challenging, but also draining and exhausting) we are ready for a getaway.  We would NEVER, ever take a trip like this - even if Tom still had his job - but we had certainly resolved that our 10th anniversary would have to be celebrated on year eleven or twelve.  So this whole thing has totally blown us away.  

But, when the islands call, you go.

Unless you abide by Tom's traveling motto, which is more like, "When the islands call... you panic."  Or "...you print out TSA toiletrie guidelines, then panic."

The Lord knew that he could use a little Jamaica in his life.  And so we're off, with nothing but our bathing a suits and sunscreen (meticulously measured into 3.4 ounce increments) and I think it's gonna do us nothing but good.

Day 31: A Final Tribute

Buckle up guys, a lot's going down in this post.  We've got something for everyone:  Pictures!  Videos!  Environmental hazards!  Take your pick.

For starters, I need to double back to Day 30.  Our friends, Pat and Megan, are getting married this weekend and I made the hair pieces for the bridal party and threw in a few extra pieces too.  This was actually my wedding gift, so I admit that it is a bit of a stretch to call it an Act of Kindness... but so much love went into each piece, and time, aaaand I am adorable and convincing and you will accept this all as sufficient for day 30.

For Day 31, we sent a little something out (a couple bucks leftover on a Dunkin Donuts gift card) into the universe, hopefully to bless a person and not just to entangle a ducklings little flippery-paw thing.  We captured it on video so you could all see our ridiculous costumes, as well as our antics.  I have a little enviro-guilt about this one, so please refrain from chastising me, taking comfort in the fact that I have already done so myself.

From L to R (Jaylen - Was supposed to be London's groom, but he ate his top hat and vomited on his tuxedo. Tom - Groom, Me - Bride, Annalee - Tweedledee, Marlie - Tweedledum, Harper - Spiderman, London - Groomless Bride.)  If you are having a hard time picking up on the theme, that's because there really isn't one.

So, our video is nothing compared to what's next.  The boys from Day 2 have a little something to contribute.  If this doesn't melt your heart, then I will pencil you in for 31 Days of Interventions because you have serious emotional problems  then we can agree to disagree on this one.  Check it out...

It is crazy to me that my brother's short, stolen life continues to impact people to this day.  I cannot even count how many messages I got from people who knew my brother, Adam, and were impacted by his life.  I cannot help but feel that God refused to let Adam's life be lost in vain.  I just imagine God saying "Alright, fine... but good luck trying to stop that kid's legacy."

These 31 Days of Kindness were done in loving memory of my hero and big brother, Adam.  I am so thankful that I got to be his "lil' pinner."

Love, your baby sister

Day 29: The Arctic Skinny Dipping of House Visits

As it gets closer to Halloween, I've discovered that it gets harder and harder to write.  And not just to write, but to pour myself into this project.  Grief can make you feel like you are swimming with your clothes on.  I can feel so heavy, that it requires slow, labored, intentional movements in order to survive.

Even mundane tasks during times like that are exhausting.  And after Day 29, I am reminded how some people feel like that, emotionally or physically, every single day. 

Yesterday, our Act of Kindness was to visit Lexi's grandmother.   This past summer, she had a stroke and has been wheelchair-bound ever since.  The last time I was out visiting her, she was playing with the kids, cooking from scratch and telling funny stories.

This visit was very different, and though she said very little, you could still see that mischievous little grin during playful conversations.  Still, she is now completely dependent upon her children and grandchildren for her daily care, as well as for the managing of her home.

So, Lexi and I took London and Jay on the hour long drive out to the boondiggities to visit the apple farm where grandma lives.  My goal was to give relief to Lexi's aunt, who is now living with grandma indefinitely to care for her.  I have seen my mom diligently care for my great aunt and grandmother, both living with us at different times, and both with Alzheimer's, as well as a close family friend, Carol, who faithfully cared for her mother-in-law in her own home for years.  Seeing it first hand made me aware that caring for elderly family members is certainly one of the most sacrificial labors of love I have seen expressed.

I fear that our visit, while a welcome distraction, probably was not a "break" for either of them.  Let's be honest, any time I show up with my spunky London, really, only her own grandmas are relieved!  London was really just in it for the apples, and Jay, he was in it for the opportunity to scavenge for whatever choking hazards he could find.  

Needless to say, we were useless in the relief department, but I am going to pray that our visit was, if nothing less, a little break from that heavy, swimming-with-clothes-on feeling.  Even if a visit with us is more like the shock of a skinny dip in arctic waters... it broke up the monotony.  And while actual arctic skinny dipping would be horribly dangerous and ill-advised for a rehabilitating stroke-victim, a couple of silly kids is maybe just what the doctor ordered.

Plus, Lodon got those apples after all.

Thanks to me...

Day 27 & 28: Babies and Snickering

So the past couple of days were a whirlwind.  I was in New York City visiting Miss N, Jay's birthmom, when I got the call that my friend, Erica, was in labor.  Erica was the very first friend I made when we moved to Rochester about 7 years ago, and she remains one of my very best friends to this day.

We have babysat each other's kids, we've shared tips about raising our kids, we have begged for prayer for our kids, and we were both in the rooms when we each gave birth to a kid.  We've been through it all... So, Day 27 was hopping on the first flight out of NYC to get back to see this little girl be born!! 

Just in case I missed the birth, I gave the JetBlue ticket taker a metro pass that  still had a couple bucks on it.  When I gave it to him he said "I don't really ever take the train, but I can give it to people as a souvenir."  I don't even know what that means, and it took me a while to realize that that was probably a huge waste... But whatever, I was gonna see baby girl enter this world!

Then she was born.  

Twenty minutes before my plane landed.  

Which I found to be a very selfish start for her.  Nonetheless, miss Sadie Marie Robinson came into this world with a beautiful face and the tiniest, most edible little ears you ever did see.  

You can't tell, but that ear is the size of my thumbprint.  I want it on a key chain.

Since I missed the birth, Day 27 was really just wasting a metro ticket.

For Day 28, I was in line at the grocery store with some friends, buying some personal items (eh hem, that's really all you need to know...) and since I am truly a seventh grader trapped on the body of a, well, let's be honest, the body of a seventh grader... I was giggling about the personal nature of my personal items.  For general informational purposes, you should probably be made aware that giggling makes the cashier so uncomfortable... and if your item is really worth giggling over, then you should buy that cashier a candy bar.

She seemed pleasantly surprised, probably because she hasn't ever had a customer with so little maturity, but maybe also because she didn't see that Snickers coming!

Day 25 & 26: Big City Stories & Sandwhiches

I received a message yesterday (Day 25**) from an acquaintance who mentioned that she was following these 31 Days of Kindness, and also that it would have been her late father's 91st birthday.  I have found that sharing my grief so publicly seems to give others permission to share their grief as well.  I can only hope that sharing the healing that these small acts bring me will, similarly, have that same healing effect on others.

In response to her message, I wanted to bless a man who was as old a her father would have been.  So my goal was to find the oldest man I could, but I wasn't sure how to bless him.  I discovered that there are zillions of old people in Manhattan, and almost all of them have seem to suffer from severe mental illness.  It was actually really sad, but I discovered that the greatest kindness one could probably show to an elderly person is to take time to listen to the story of their life.  

Stories of war, love, disability checks, feast and famine, becoming a widower, estranged from children, illness, pain, loss and loneliness seem to be a common thread woven in the stories of these long lives.  Yet, being seen and heard, is a healing kindness to a people who are largely ignored.  

--

In selfishly unrelated news, Melissa and I saw (and maybe followed) Diana Ross and her daughter all the way to their building!  Her hair was sensational and I love her so much.

And you may not be able to tell from this picture, but if you look really close, you can tell that she loves me too.

I love this city.  I love Diana Ross.  I love old men with tragic stories.  I love seeing a perfectly serious woman on a bicycle wearing regular clothes, and a top hat.  I loved seeing this truck full of singing, dancing farm animal puppets, for no reason whatsoever. 

I mean... Why!? 

It's a wild city, but I love it.  And I loved Day 26.

I met up with Jess and her son Colin.  I knew Jessica back in high school, and not even that well really, but my brother Adam went to prom with Jess' sister Jean-Marie, back when the tea-length ball gown was the cat's meow.

So, Jess and Jean-Marie followed our 31 Days of Kindness last year, and Jess blessed our family with a huge kindness of helping us with flights so we can bring Jay to NYC to visit Miss N.  She and Melissa are the reason we were able to agree to having such an open adoption.  

It goes without saying, I owed her a cup of coffee.  But her and her amazing son, Colin, had grander and kinder plans.  They wanted to participate in Day 26.  So they spent the morning doing this:

So that we could spend the day doing this:

Colin made and delivered about a dozen sandwiches for homeless men and women throughout the city, making sure that each person had dessert as well.    After reflecting on all that we saw and the experience of the day, Colin drew this remarkable picture when he returned home.

Jess is raising such a talented and terrific kid, and it was fun to get to know them both.  It made Day 26 very special.  Almost as special as the man we saw dressed in all red, with a flowing black mullet holding a mirror-encrusted school folder in front of his face so people couldn't look directly at him.  It was so bizarre, and the only thing I loved more than Diana's glorious hair.  

**For the purpose of continuity one detail of this story was altered, I actually did both kindnesses today.  Melissa, while the most kind and generous possible host one could imagine, it turns out that she hates, and does not support, my acts of kindness.  When I told her yesterday that I had to "bless an old man" she simply said, "I hate this."  

So, I was forced to wait until she was on an airplane heading out of the city before I blessed the elderly. Against her wishes.  

Day 24: A Dollar, Dishes and a Delivery

One year ago, almost to the day, I was in Manhattan.  I was in the middle of my first annual 31 Days of Kindness, and we had gotten a call that we were chosen by a birthmother to adopt her baby.  You can read the original post here, but the long story short is that she changed her mind in the hospital, and we had to drive home with one empty car seat.  That was not the baby that God had intended to be in our forever family.  It wasn't until the following January until we learned who our "mistry baby" would be. 

Jaylen came to us months later, and without a doubt, he is the child that was meant to be in our family.  (You can read about his homecoming story here.)  Jay was also born in New York City, and coming back a few months after our failed adoption was very challenging, but healing at the same time.

We have, what is called, an open adoption with Jaylen's birthmother.  Every open adoption looks different, but ours looks like this:  I send Miss N. text and picture messages every couple of days, I update a private blog with pictures and information about Jay's health and development, we talk and/or FaceTime occasionally, and I bring Jaylen to visit every few months.

Day 24.  It may be a bit of a stretch because it is hardly a random act of kindness... but this morning, I packed up a zillion pounds of baby gear and I boarded a plane to come to Manhattan to honor our commitment to facilitate a relationship between our son and his first mama.  As thrilled as I am to make these visits, they are a bit of a sacrifice, and I have to rely on the generosity of my friends Jessica (who helps with flights) and Melissa (*who forced me to do her dishes as payment for staying at her place.)

*That was a total lie, but I did do her dishes, and I put a dollar in a homeless man's change receptacle which I am counting as a kindness in case this doesn't do it for you people:

So there you have it, dishes done willingly, dollar given joyfully and birthmom reunion.  How ya like that Day 24?

Day 22: The Counter-Terrorist Unit

When my brother, Adam, was in kindergarten he would dismember our oldest sister's Barbies and hide the body parts around the house.  Kristin would come home from school, furious, and have to locate and reassemble the limbs and heads and bodies.  

I have a little boy in kindergarten.  He isn't dismembering Barbie's anymore... that's child's play for Mr. Harper.  The latest scandal for our kindergartener is that he has been getting off the bus early to partake in our school's breakfast program, which is a great program designed for low-income families who are unable to provide breakfast for their children.  

Let me clarify something... Harper gets breakfast at home.  We have never sent him to school without a hearty and healthy breakfast.  Still...

My Harper has been double-dippin' on breakfast the whole school year and we didn't know it.

The bottom line here is that even boys who grow into fine young men like my brother Adam was, they all start out as tiny, nightmarish fools.

For Day 22, I chose to pop in on my friend, Karolin.  She spends her days (and oftentimes long hours into the nights) shaping these monsters into single-breakfast eating ladies and gentleman.  She is a generous, strong and selfless woman, putting her friends and students ahead of herself... so we paid her a visit.

My friend Lexi and I went together, neither of us had a clue how to get to the school where she works... but we found it and she happened to be outside at recess dealing with the exact terrorism I am referring to.  She had them all lined up to head to the playground, she fielded complaints and tattles like a pro, she had even prepped a little work study for a few of the especially naughty delinquents before they were released to enjoy the privilege of recess... 

Sometimes a teacher like that deserves a turkey hat full of goodies.  

Day 21: Beautiful Heaven Awaits

As I have shared, unexpected Acts of Kindness elicit a variety of responses from people.  More often than not, people are skeptical, hesitant and confused.  Fewer, but some, act angry and defensive.  Fewer still, act like they won the lottery.  These are my favorites, when such a small thing knocks someone's socks off.  One of my favorite responses was from last year, when I gave a kid a snickers bar, and in disbelief he kept saying he couldn't accept it and continued asking me if I was sure.

My brother, Adam, had very eclectic taste in music.  Before a country/hip-hop collaboration was cool, my big bro was collabbin' Bob Marley, 80's hairbands, DJ Jazzy Jeff, Run DMC and Kenny Rogers on a regular basis.  He truly loved all kinds of music, and dancing like a fool, was a natural accompaniment.

One of his favorite songs around the time of his death was Mr. Wendal.  One of the best known lyrics from the song is the opening line:

"Here, have a dollar,
  in fact, nah, brotherman here, have two
  Two dollars means a snack for me, 
  but it means a big deal to you...

 Be strong, serve God only,
 know that if you do, beautiful heaven awaits..."

Day 21.

I decided to use another gift card from The Unnamed Benefactor of Kindness who anonymously mailed me a few gift cards to use on others this month.  I had a plan to give the gift card to someone unsuspecting that I had in mind, but my plans changed as I was driving to my Bible study last night.  I had the card in my pocket, ready to deliver, when I pulled up to a red light and saw a man, holding a sign.

 Hungry. 

Will work for food.

I had this Starbucks gift card just burning a hole in my pocket.  This guy is sitting there, and as I pulled up and rolled down my window, he didn't even look my direction.  How long must one sit and hope and experience disappointment before they stop noticing someone actually willing to give?

So, I yelled to get his attention, he startled, came over and I handed him the gift card.  He looked at it, unsure. I had a brief and horrible vision of someone handing out empty gift cards to homeless people as a cruel joke.  It made me sick, and worried that his hesitance was due to the same worry.  I said "Hey, the card is good, it's ten dollars to Starbucks."

His eyes widened, and he did the whole "Really!?  Are you sure!?  Why??  For me?"

I reassured him that it was definitely just for him, and not to think twice about it, and that it really wasn't a big deal at all... (granted it was not my money, but someone else's, but the reality remains that ten dollars here and there for most of us, really isn't that big of a deal.)

He looked at me in total disagreement and said "Ten dollars!?  That's like chocolate chip mocha frappeccino kind of money!"

It turns out, he's one of those lottery guys.  Like Mr. Wendal, a little generosity means a big deal to him.

I know that people have mixed emotions about helping homeless people.  Sure, he could just be down on his luck, despite good choices and hard work... but I know that some will say "he doesn't want warm coffee, he wants crystal meth."  And maybe that's true.  But, maybe, even if just for the night, the warm coffee and the warmth of a stranger gave him just enough of a high to think twice.  And if not, that part isn't really my business... my job was to respond to the prompting to serve God by showing kindness and compassion, and I have no regrets about that.  That is how my brother lived his life, and I know that not long after this jam hit the airwaves, my brother went home a beautiful heaven.

Day 20: Generational Kindness

As I have already shared, my brother was an avid reader and a passionate writer.  For Day 20, we decided to pass along the gift of reading to some kiddos who probably need the escape more than anyone.

We had the kids each choose two children's books that were willing to part with, but that were still in good condition.  They always surprise me with how generous they are with very little prompting.  They brought down a total of twenty two books.

We brought them to Rochester General Hospital, and donated them to the pediatric unit.  They just had a few books in the family waiting room, and the lady at the desk seemed very happy to receive the extra books.

This Act of Kindness was completely free, and took us 45 minutes total.  This is something anyone can do!  I hope you guys who are participating are having as much fun as we are!! 

My kind givers... Jaylen on the other hand, he's still just freeloadin' around. 

Day 18 & 19: 'Tis Better to Give than Receive, but Receiving Isn't So Bad

This summer, an old friend from high school, Greg, and his wife sent us a care package.  They put together all the essentials for our family to relax and spend time together.  Because Tom had recently been laid off, they put in some gifts cards, candy and popcorn and a few movies for us to watch during "Fanny Noonie Night."  (This is how the kids used to pronounce family movie night, and it stuck...)

This Act of Kindness was such an unexpected blessing, and it was only the beginning.  The kindnesses have continued to be poured out from others during this time.  

One friend anonymously bought my movie ticket or an upcoming girls night.  One stranger had my friend Lexi deliver some money and an encouraging note.  Others have quietly passed a check or a card our way, just saying they "felt led."  Since Tom and I will be celebrating our 10th anniversary next month, Lexi and my mother-in-law coordinated groups of friends and family who pooled together to bless Tom and I with some money to take a trip.  Another friend is helping us with discounted flights.  We never really had honeymoon, so after ten years of marriage and five children... we will finally get that honeymoon.

During this month, where I am supposed to be extending all this kindness... I am being blown out of the water by you people.  It is overwhelming... 

In the mail, we received some gift cards from some anonymous readers.  From two different states, two different people took the time and expense to mail us these gift cards.  Some to pass along for the 31 Days of Kindness, and some just for us.  I have no words.

So, Day 18 & 19 are not only kindnesses for strangers, but they are kindnesses from strangers as well!  It has been a great reminder that none of this really belongs to us anyways, it all belongs to the One who created it... and sometimes, we are just lucky enough to be involved in passing it along, or having it passed back our way.

Day 18.  In honor of Greg and his family, we brought a popcorn bucket, complete with microwave popcorn and a dollar to pay for one Redbox movie rental.  

Day 19.  We used one of the gift cards we received in the mail.  

I trust that every act of kindness will be paid forward.  I believe that, because I have seen how every single thing I have ever given has been heaped back upon us a thousand fold.  

Day 17: Random Acts of McShame

So, I don't really eat fast food.  I can count the number of times I have eaten at McDonalds in the past 7 years.  It's the same amount of times I want to throw up at myself for doing it.  *Each time I did, it was essentially an emergency.  And by emergency I mean we were traveling out of state and there were no other places to eat and I had already eaten both of my shoes, so it was a matter of survival.  Still, I regretted it each and every time.  

The shoes, though, I stand by that decision to this day.

My husband is a very different story.  He hates his arteries and wants to McStuff them with as much puréed cattle tendon as possible.  I try, and I have made a great deal of headway... now, he seldom eats fast food, but despite all my efforts, he still craves fries after watching movies like Supersize Me.

He and his friend, David - who is also our pastor - stood in line at McDonalds one morning at approximately 4:30 am in an attempt to earn a coupon for one free breakfast sandwich a week for a full year. (These are my spiritual leaders ladies and gentlemen... this may help some of you understand my limitations as a person.)   McLawsuit decided not to extend the offer past one year, because no patron would survive past the year on that diet anyways.   

Now, my position on McDonalds has not changed.  The poor quality of their food, their horrifying treatment of animals, their love for little bits of bone in their burgers... it all repulses me.  

But we do have that coupon...

I know, I know... How could I??  

But the sandwich is free!  And I have kindnesses to uphold!  So, here's how it all went down...

We went in and used the coupon to get the sandwich with the purpose of giving it to the guy on 104 always holding a "Hungry & Homeless" sign.  In a moment of weakness, I almost caved and got one too, because I don't care what anyone says, their breakfast sandwiches are actually delicious.  But then Tom reminded me of scenes from countless documentaries I've seen, and I couldn't do it.  But, I did get a hashbrown, citing "you can't mistreat a potato" as my rationale.

I couldn't have been more wrong.  

The grossly mistreated potato had been cooked in rancid oil.  It was seriously one of the most disgusting things I ever spat into a bag. I just threw up in my mouth from reliving it.

Once again, Tom and I are in different camps here.  He did get himself a sandwich and enjoyed it thoroughly.  While I was spitting and yelling, "We're all dying of Egg McMuffin!" he was deciding which sandwich to keep, and which to give. 

"Who needs the egg more, me or the homeless guy?" 

Tom suggested we go in and complain, but admitted that they would probably just give us coupons for more free food.  When I explained that I didn't want more of their food, but that what I wanted was those years of my life back... we decided to just go find our guy.

We found him.

He was playing a guitar for the passing cars, and He seemed happy and thankful for the breakfast, but I can't shake the feeling that we have done something horribly wrong today.  Still, our heart was in the right place and I do think he was blessed.  We all made sacrifices today, I sacrificed my dignity, my taste buds and the ability to not feel nauseas all day and McHeartDisease, I mean, Tom sacrificed the one with egg.