Day 1: The Hardest Story I Never Told

When October rolls around I get stuck. It is as though my body - my soul -  involuntarily braces itself for trauma. The crisp fall air, the smell of leaves and bonfires... they are all beautiful, nostalgic reminders of fall, and also nightmarish triggers that put my physical and emotional self on high alert, tragedy-ready. The grief that October holds for my family has always had a sort of gravitational pull on me. That one fateful night in October is how I mark time. 

There is life before, and then there is after. 

When I was invited to participate in a kindness challenge several Octobers ago, I agreed in hopes that I could use kindness as a way to process through the loads of unresolved grief I had been carrying since my childhood. Never in a million years did I think that thousands of participants would ultimately join in spreading kindness in memory of a boy that most didn’t have the privilege of knowing. So each year, I do this again. I tell the story of the night that changed everything. Each year I edit it a bit, and I try to change things a little… but the sad reality is that although that night changed everything… the story itself does not ever change. I cannot edit a better ending for Adam and attempting to wouldn’t be honest, or real. So, here is that story, in all it’s hesitant and vulnerable glory, as I first shared it with the world

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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 big news worth spreading for our small, West Michigan town. When my brother (and his friend Mike) were driving home, they passed some of their friends out playing some harmless Halloween pranks and it seemed the perfect time to spread the news. So Adam pulled the car over and began regaling the details of their night, of his team and their victory. 

I have no idea what my brother was thinking or feeling in that moment but, my guess, is freedom. I imagine a boy -  a sweet 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 I imagine 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 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 and unburdened in this one, pure moment.

The whimsical, carefree youth of the moment ended when a homeowner came out and was irate to discover toilet paper in his trees and the saran wrap on his car. Though my brother had not been personally involved in executing these pranks, he had the car and perhaps that made him appear to be the ringleader. This man, carrying a canoe paddle, yelled and threatened to call the police and then took down my brother’s license plate number. 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 home, to apologize for being there: wrong place, wrong time. He planned to clear his name and offer to clean up the yard, and to be certain… he no longer felt young and free. He was likely 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 make good on his threat to 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 closed 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 a great faith adventure with Jesus, and taught me to dance like M.C. Hammer, and how to be funny enough to joke my way out of trouble. He was gone. 

His murderer was in and out of jail after only two years. Two years. For a boy's life taken in a rage over a harmless prank. The senselessness of my brother’s death, the injustice, the lack of resolve… these are the things that haunted me each October. As I grew up and became a mother to my five little crazies, I was no longer satisfied to keep all of my little girl grief locked away inside me. I needed to do something. I had to be productive and focus outward or I would implode with this seasonal grief and cyclical depression. I wanted to commit myself to honor all the good Adam would have done to the glory of God if he had been given that opportunity. Thousands of readers/listeners now participate each October in an initiative we call #AdamsActs, because these are the types of kind acts we believe Adam would have spent his life bestowing upon others had his life not been tragically cut short. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Well, here is my chance... 40 is just about as grown up as a girl can expect to be.

I cannot change the outcome of Adam’s story. I cannot edit out the pain or the deep grief of such a heartbreaking ending. But I am not powerless. I get to change the outcome of my own story. I get to choose how to respond to the greatest loss of my life. THAT is a story that I do get to write.

And If I can’t change Adam’s story, I might as well try to change the world. One act of kindness at a time.

My #AdamsAct for Day One is sharing this story with you all. And asking you to share it as well. I am rallying the people around me to participate, and while I AM an absolute pleasure… I’m also a little feisty, so I am bossing YOU into participating too. You’re welcome. I will microblog daily on my social media accounts - @laracapuano on instagram and Lara Provencal Capuano on Facebook as well as new podcast episodes on Master of Fun Podcast every Monday as usual. (Check out THIS PODCAST EPISODE if you would like to take a deeper dive into all my baggage and hear more about the night that Adam was killed and some of my journey since.)

The greatest kindness you can do for me and my family is to like and share the posts and podcasts to your social media, and why not challenge everyone you know? (Unless you hate kindness.) Spread the word. Do any act of kindness you can, no matter how small. To follow along and contribute to our collective journey, please use the hashtag #AdamsActs in pictures and posts so we can all see how far reaching an impact our kindnesses can make. Each year looks a little differently based on my crazy, unpredictable life… but given everything going on in the world right now, I believe there hasn’t been a better time to enter into a season of kindness. I want you to be part of that.

Thank you for allowing me to share my family's story with you. If I can't spend my days watching my brother live out all the remarkable kindness that was in his heart, the next best thing is watching all of you do it in his memory.

In loving memory of our beloved brother, buddy and hero.

—

Want to go deeper? Explore God’s kindness in the face of tragedy, loss and suffering with this 31 day guided devotional. Author and speaker, Lara Capuano, writes this companion study for participants of #AdamsActs which is available for $1.99 - if you would like a copy but cannot afford it, please submit a message here for a free copy as my act of kindness to you!

I Come Empty Handed

Historically, I have not handled criticism terribly well. Anyone remember this mental breakdown from last year? Perhaps one of my finest public shame spirals, if I may be so bold. I have learned and grown a lot in the past year, so I decided that since more than 5,000 people have already read Day 1, this year I am going to get ahead of some of the most common questions and critiques. This time, not because of my insecurity, but because I want to convince you that we are doing good work together, and you should definitely consider getting involved. Let’s take a look at question/comment #1...

Q: For starters, shouldn’t we all just perform acts of kindness anyways? And shouldn’t we do it anonymously? Isn’t it really self-serving to post kind acts so publicly?

A: I can appreciate this question because, at first glance, I would probably tend to find a public bragfest to be quite off-putting. However, I do not believe that people are doing this to “brag about being kind.” I have been doing this for seven years now and I have had the honor and pleasure of watching this idea grow into an initiative and then develop even further, into a movement. It has caused people to move.

I have seen angry, bitter, hurting people move toward softness, toward healing. I have seen people who are fearful and guarded, move toward openness and vulnerability. I have seen people who are trudging through the same heavy, thick grief move toward peace and freedom, toward levity. Kindness moves people to become more kind. Kindness had the redemptive and restorative power to heal people, to invite them in to something bigger and more meaningful than themselves. I have seen this month of kindness give people purpose. We can be privately kind for 11 months out of the year, but for one month… let’s be out loud and in your face about the impact kindness can have. Because, that is what moves people. That is what makes it contagious.

Q: Aren’t you just trying to get attention? Shouldn’t you be over this by now?

A: Eh nope! Okay admittedly, I haven’t received this particular question (to my face) since high school. However, as my brother’s story is being circulated by strangers multiple times over, its reach gets further and further removed from me. That is exactly the goal! What tends to happen though, is that people feel freer to make potentially hurtful remarks like “get over it by now.” To that question I would say a few things: 1) You, sir, are lucky that I am stable enough in this moment that I will not hunt you down and throat punch you for your insensitivity. 2) You, sir, are quite fortunate that you do not understand the depths of timeless grief because that means that you have never lost someone who you loved so much that you can’t “get over it,” 3) You will someday, and you will want to apologize for what you said, 4) I already forgive you. But also 5) Shut up so much.

When Adam was killed so suddenly, I was still just a girl. For a child to navigate an ocean of grief without the maturity and capacity of an adult, the grieving process is delayed. While I do not think we should compare our grieving process to another person’s process, I think it is understandable to do so. What is even more misguided, would be comparing an adult’s grief to a child’s. I am not saying either is harder or easier… but I am saying that a child will need to first become an adult in order to fully and effectively grieve. So, that is what I have done. I started this process seven years ago. And now it feels like Adam died 7 years ago. In reality, Adam was killed in 1993. But my process started many years after that. So, see #5 above and have a blessed day.

Finally, my favorite frequently asked question:

Q: What if I forget to post? What if I run out of ideas? What if my acts of kindness are just very small?

IT’S ALL OKAY. Trust me, after you read what I did for Day #2, you are going to feel a lot less worried or pressured to do something epic. I LOVE the creative ideas that people are already coming up with! Here’s the thing though, we aren’t all in that space. I have five children people… there were years where I counted the absence of an outburst in my home an act of kindness. There are times that I have done nothing at all, so instead I made a terrible video explaining myself. There have been times, like today, where I totally failed at my kindness altogether!

You will forget. It’s okay to double up, or to give yourself a pass. If you run out of ideas, type #AdamsActs into Google, Twitter, Instagram or Facebook and you will find a butt ton of ideas. If you are sick or tired or feeling particularly lazy - SHARE MY POSTS! Liking, commenting, reposting… all these easy actions are a kindness to me, and they put this kindness campaign in front of more eyes. It helps us connect with more people who could use a little kindness in their lives. If you are consistent, but feeling as if your kindnesses are “small” then I want to challenge you to try this exercise:

Think of three of the kindest people you know. Now think of something nice each of them said or did. Were they all huge, life-changing things? Or were they smaller, consistent efforts to encourage you? In the same way that small things can trigger big feelings of grief, small acts of kindness can make a big impact on someone’s day. One compliment, one encouraging message, one extra moment to make a human connection… these are the things that, if done consistently over time, have the potential to change someone’s life. Remember that our cumulative efforts are what make the biggest difference.

Now, without further ado, my Day #2. I made a very sizable donation to a fundraiser that my sweet friend Anna is involved with to raise money for her High School’s production of Pride and Prejudice - which is one of my all time favorite books and I also love the movie. In related news,  I think that the BBC version was well done in regards to character development (many thanks to Pete Nesbitt for that astute observation), but I don’t care what anyone says Keira Nightly is a better Lizzie. Okay, I know that was a really self-indulgent moment but this technically is still my blog and you can see #5 above if you have any further questions. Back to my sizable donation. By “sizable donation” I mean that I bought a five dollar raffle ticket, And by “bought” I mean I forgot to pay for it. So, for Day #2, I stole. From a child.

Here is the ticket I stole:

Oh wait, that’s just an empty hand. Because after stealing the ticket, I lost the ticket.

See? Bar set super low! Now, go, and be as kind as you possibly can be. Give joyfully! Steal accidentally! I mean, pay people back and stuff, but don’t beat yourself up about it! And it’s okay to tell the world. It’s also okay to keep it private. Whatever would stretch you the most, then do that thing. At the end of the day it won’t be the recipients of our kindness/theft that will be most impacted, it will be us.

Day 1: The Hardest Story I never Told. #AdamsActs

Several years ago I was challenged by some friends to participate in a 31 day kindness challenge. These friends knew that I struggled through the month of October with loads of unresolved grief from my childhood. My little girl self had a world of grief that I had never processed as an adult. So, I accepted the challenge and forced myself to unpack said baggage in a super public and vulnerable way! Hooray for having zero boundaries! The story I share below is that original post, virtually word for word. I only make minor edits each year because I like the raw vulnerability of it, and because frankly… the story of what happened that night does not change. My brother’s fate will never change. The only thing that I have the power to change about this story, is my reaction to it.

----

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 closed 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. 

I started doing these acts of kindness because I had to do something. I had to be productive and focus outward or I would implode with this seasonal grief and cyclical depression. I wanted 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. This is why we call them #AdamsActs, because these are the types of things Adam would have spent his life doing. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Well, here is my chance... 37 is pretty grown up, so here goes nothing. 

I cannot change the outcome of Adam’s story. So, this is how I am choosing to respond to the greatest loss of my life. If I can’t change Adam’s story, I might as well try to change the world. One act of kindness at a time.

For Day One, I am sharing this story. I am rallying the people around me to participate, and I am bossing you into participating too. You're welcome. This is the seventh October that I have asked and encouraged whatever participation you can muster. The greatest kindness you can do for me and my family is to like and share these blog posts to your social media, and why not challenge everyone you know? (Unless you hate kindness.) Spread the word. Do any act of kindness you can, no matter how small. To follow along and contribute to our collective journey, please use the hashtag #AdamsActs in pictures and posts so we can all see how far reaching an impact our kindnesses can make. Each year we gain thousands of new readers and I believe that this year is going to blow our minds. I want you to be a part of it.

Thank you for allowing me to share my family's story with you. If I can't spend my days watching my brother live out all the remarkable kindness that was in his heart, the next best thing is watching all of you do it in his memory.

In loving memory of my buddy and hero, Adam H. Provencal.

For pointing me toward God's restorative kindness.

Love, your baby sister

Day 29 & 30: Loving My Terrible Neighbor & Seeing the Invisible

I used to have this old crotchety neighbor named Mr. Al. He was hands down the second worst neighbor I've ever had. (The only neighbor worse than him was the lady who got drunk and drove up her brand new deck and smashed into her own house in the middle of the night while I had five little girls camping a few years away in my tent for a sleepover birthday party.) That was a little worse than Mr. Al who's just being old and bossy. It's taken me a lot of years to learn this about myself, but I don't like to be bossed. If you tell me to check my email I will not check my email. I will likely throw away my computer and end our friendship. I'm working on this by the way. (Except that I'm not.) The point is that Mr. Al really bumped up against my personal pet peeve of being bossed around. Literally every time I had a conversation with Mr. Al he was always telling me what to do.

He (aggressively) told me who to vote for, he told me how to invest all the money I still don't have, he told me where to put my mulch and also to have an abortion because I was really sick during my pregnancy. He was always so grouchy and bossy and unapologetic that I couldn't take it. Still, I tried really hard to be nice to him. We made a lot of effort to serve him and show him love, kindness and patience... even when I secretly felt violent. Even when we explained why were were okay with "the blacks" moving in. 

We had a breakthrough several years ago with Mr. Al when I brought him a meal and he Disney-frenched me in excitement. That upsetting kiss showed me that even the loneliest and grouchiest among us need a little TLC. And when they get the TLC they might respond with a little PDA. 

We no longer live next to Mr. Al, but since we have been back at our old house repairing damages, he has been on our minds lately. So, we invited him to join us for Grandpa Day. If you aren't familiar with Grandpa Day, allow me to explain. Grandpa Day is a fictitious holiday where we all gather to deep fry various foods in oil, under the guise of celebrating Grandpa. It's not a real thing. It's just something we made up so we can eat donuts. Mr. Al did not come to Grandpa Day. Because he hates joy and fried dough and babies and black people and all the other good things in the world. Still, I brought home a piece of pie to bring to him later. I am counting that and the impending geriatric makeout sesh as my #AdamsActs for Day 29.

For Day 30, I participated in a great opportunity to connect with some of the homeless population in Rochester. My friend Allie heads up a community organization called Supports on the Streets.  What I really appreciate about their vision is that it is all relationship-based with an emphasis on helping without hurting. Sure, we brought some care packages with essentials (see list below for needed items) and some dental hygiene kits, but more than that... we simply connected with people who are often marginalized. The best part of the evening for me was connecting with a man who also considers himself a writer. He told us about his poetry and about a book he is writing. I told him that his story is an inspiration for me to keep writing and he asked if we could exchange our writing sometime. I'm about 99% sure that this guy is a better writer than I will ever be, so I am looking forward to that exchange - not just of our writing but our experiences. 

The homeless population in our country is often invisible. Please consider how you might be able to love on the most under-served people in your community. I hear a lot of Christians talk about "being Jesus" to others. But in scripture Jesus refers to the hungry, thirsty, naked, homeless, sick and imprisoned and says that "whatever you did for the least of these you did for me." Followers of Christ hear this and the takeaway is to "Be Jesus" to those who are marginalized. But I don't think that is what Jesus is saying. He didn't say to be him. He said that how we treat the marginalized is how we treat him. We aren't supposed to "Be Jesus" to the marginalized, we are supposed to treat the marginalized as if they were Jesus. However we would interact with Jesus himself if he was living in a tent off the inner loop is exactly how we should interact with the poet I met tonight. With honor, with humility, with genuine interest. We were never called to be the savior, but to honor the savior by loving those who are most often overlooked.

Here is a revised list that I compiled last year of some things that I have learned over the years about homeless outreach.  

1. Due to the lack of consistent dental hygiene, many people have sore or missing teeth. So, stick to softer foods that are easy to chew - bread, soft cereal bars, pudding, applesauce, bananas, soups, cheese sticks, even pizza. :) Avoid foods like apples. A lot of people cannot eat raw apples. 
2. Keep clean socks in your car. The health of your feet is of utmost importance when you spend your life walking from place to place. Limited access to showers or fresh socks can often lead to foot issues and pain. 
3. Chapstick, disposable toothbrushes, trial size deodorant, travel size packs of baby wipes and other small personal hygiene essentials are very helpful. And don't forget to supply the ladies during that "extra special' time of the month. Can you imagine dealing with all that on the streets? 
4. Some helpful items we may not think about are large, sturdy ziplock bags, a waterproof tarp, hats and gloves, rain poncho, and those rubber shoe cover things that protect shoes from water. 
5. Touch them. Living on the fringe of society often means these people are overlooked. If you are invisible, you are probably not being affectionately cared for. So look into people's eyes, say good morning, ask how they feel, ask if there is anyone you can call for them. Give them a hug, touch their shoulder, hold their hand. Ask what their name is. Ask if they'd like to tell you how they ended up on the street. Ask if they need to go to the hospital. Ask if they are in touch with anyone for services/supports. If you can, sit and eat a meal with them. Treat them like an equal, with value and a little dignity. 
6. Expect to see a lot of mental illness. Contrary to what most people believe, a large majority of homeless people are in that position because of mental health problems. Expect a lot of confusion. Just be compassionate, and let them swear a little because they think you want to steal their cat. (They don't have a cat.) Just tell them you love them and get then get the crap outta there. 
7. Remember that it could be you. I try to remember that with each lost soul I see, that I am not better. I am just as capable of losing my mind. I am just as capable of losing everyone I love in some freak tragedy. I am just as capable of making a terrible choice that leads me down a path of destruction. I am not better. You are not better. We all need Jesus. So don't judge, don't make assumptions, just help without hurting and be grateful for your teeth.  

Day 27 & 28: Wrestling With Pain

Warning: ***The following is a bit graphic, so if you are an enormous babychild you may want to skip this first part.***

Several years ago, after having my second daughter, I had excruciating pain on the right side of my abdomen. I could feel a relatively large mass just below my rib cage and it was not only strange and worrisome, but it seemed to be the source of my discomfort. The pain wasn't constant, but when present, it was often unbearable. At one point, after a long car ride, I was in so much pain I started feeling quite dizzy and nauseated. When Tom finally pulled into the driveway I was so eager to get out of the car that I immediately opened the door the moment the car stopped moving. It was too late though. As soon as my door opened I passed out onto the driveway. I still remember "coming to" and Tom saying, "I don't know what happened, I put the van in park and looked over and you were gone!." It was all very mysterious and a touch dramatic. 

To my frustration, my doctor couldn't find anything abnormal. The ultrasound and CT scan results were totally normal. No mass. Nothing inside me that was out of the ordinary. I was asked a lot of questions that made me feel that doctors believed that these might be psychosomatic symptoms, or postpartum depression. Still, the pain persisted. In waves. It was sometimes there as a dull ache, and sometimes it was sharp and acute. Desperate for answers, I started paying very close attention to the pain. What positions caused me the most pain? What actions or movements were more comfortable, or less. Was my body reacting to something that I wasn't paying attention to? When was the mass there (sometimes visible!) and when was it gone? I would make Tom feel the mass when it was there so he didn't think I was crazy. This went on for close to two years. 

In this process I determined that sitting for any amount of time was the most painful. I went to yet another doctor with my observations and she listened to me and got creative. She did an ultrasound, but instead of just lying there on my back, she had me lay on each side. She had me sit up, she did an ultrasound on my abdomen while standing up and contorting myself in all different directions. 

And ya know what, she found it. Wanna know what that mass was? It was my kidney. Except it was floating around my body instead of staying up where it belongs. When I was laying down it would swim up where it belonged and was, therefore undetectable during a CT or typical ultrasound. She sent me for a kidney function test, and also a sitting and a standing CT and the images were clear - my right kidney was dangling below the protection of my rib cage. When I was sitting, my rib cage would jam into my kidney, restricting blood flow and causing a great deal of pain. My right kidney was functioning at just under 20%. The official diagnosis was Nephroptosis or floating kidney.

I ended up having a surgery called a nephropexy - where they litterally stitched my kidney up to my back muscles. To this day it feels super weird to run or jump on a trampoline or do handstands and cartwheels. Not just because I am 36 or 37 and am probably too old to be participating in these shenanigans, but because I can actually feel my kidney tugging on my back muscles. No matter how much time passes, no matter how much I choose to live an exuberant life, I can always feel the pain tugging inside me.

That is grief. 

I have always lived an exuberant life. I am loud and spazzy and embarrassing. I bust out handstands and loudly sing (incorrect) lyrics in my unfortunate singing voice. When I make people laugh it's like a power-up on a video game for me. Laughter makes me louder and spazzier and more embarrassing. I am like a toddler up past their bedtime. I am not unhappy. I am full of life and I have so much joy and am able to dance with such reckless abandon that it might be my spiritual gift. 

Still. No matter how much time passes, no matter how much I choose to live an exuberant, full life... I can always feel the pain of grief tugging inside me. It doesn't stop me from doing cartwheels. But it's always there.

For Day 27 we were supposed to have Frank over for dinner and a cake presentation. If you don't know who or what I am talking about, you might want to watch this video:

We ordered the cake and I have to give a shout out to my friend and neighbor Maggie for understanding how computers work and for using one to create the bird and milk carton graphic that we put on the cake. 

Sadly, Frank and his family were not able to come. He was under the weather, so we have to reschedule. :( We were very sad that we couldn't present him with his beautiful baptismal cake, but I don't think he'd mind me telling you that when we connected over the phone for the first time he said how touched he was that Tom remembered him and his kind actions so many years later. We look forward to reconnecting with Frank soon. 

For Day 28, we livestreamed (I don't really know what live streaming is, so I might be using it wrong.) our girls' final cross country race.

It was the county championships and Annalee and Marlie did awesome, both breaking personal race times. We haven't yet received the official results for the whole race, but we do know that Annalee (our 8th grader) came in 6th in the county!

This is my blog, and I reserve the right to shamelessly celebrate for a sec because I am beyond proud of my kid that can run a 5:53 mile (and smokes the boys on a regular basis.) ;) Our family in Michigan and Chicago don't get to see the kids' events so using Facebook Live to make a fool of my spazzy, exuberant self while recording their events is a gift to our family. 

We also bought the girls a county race shirt. These shirts are ill-fitting and over priced and parent confession: the girls usually buy their own merchandise if they really want it. They do not ask us to buy stuff. It's a reflection of who they are, and their perspective and understanding of life with lots of kids in the family. We simply have to say no to the extras. Even though they came prepared to purchase their own shirts, we surprised them by buying them. It sounds like a small thing, but $56 bucks for two long sleeve shirts that are way too wide for my little slim babies is a big deal to us.

Watching some sports impacts me more than others. There is something about wrestling and cross country that makes me wistful. Wrestling - in part - because Adam was such a wrestling phenom and I grew up in the gym watching wrestling meets.

But also because wrestling and long distance running take so much discipline. Both sports take a tenacity and endurance that other sports don't seem to require. Yesterday, I watched my girls push through their pain to run their best race. 

That is grief. That is life really. That no matter how much life we live, no matter how much ground we cover... we cannot outrun our pain. It stays with us, and it requires a tenacity and endurance that many of us have no choice but to develop. The pain is a non-negotiable. Running the race well is the choice. The pain isn't going anywhere, but whether or not we press on, and still laugh and eat cake and do cartwheels... that is the decision we must make. 

Catching Up on Kindness: Kisses,Cousins & Candy Dinner

I once read a really sophisticated blog post (okay fine it was a makeup tutorial) where the lady referred to her readers as kittens. I won't do that, but sometimes I want to thank all of my kittens but I don't have the right word. Saying "readers" doesn't quite capture our relationship does it? I am open to suggestion here, but for now, suffice it to say that I am endlessly thankful that you all continue to show up, share my posts and use #AdamsActs in your own posts. I also appreciate your understanding while I was an absentee blogger over the weekend. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with my family in Michigan (which you can read about HERE), but felt a touch disconnected from all my precious kittens. 

Okay, I said I wouldn't call you that, but it's totally happening. I'm not any happier about it than you guys. Please suggest alternatives. 

As I mentioned before I'm having trouble with my website platform, so my most recent post (linked above) did not get sent out to all the coolest cats - my subscribers. To join that awesome club you can subscribe here. 

Now, we have a lot of kindness to catch up on! First and foremost, spending time with my family was a true kindness to me. It was very moving to watch my nephew Adam finish out his senior year by crushing their opponents. The GOREDHAWKS is it?

Then for day 21, I went to my nephew Ty's soccer game and tried to buy donuts for everyone afterwards but I got aggressively out-generoused by my sister BethAnn and her husband Dan. (This feels like a fun time to inform you that their full names are BethAnn and Dan Mann.) With donuts already covered, I needed to give back. So I gave BethAnn the greatest kindness of all - physical affection that she pretends not to enjoy but secretly adores. My other sister, Kristin, and I were able to see through her protestations for what they were - a cry for more affection.

Obviously this is her happy place. Day 21? Check.

We headed back to NY yesterday and my act of kindness was giving my kids "candy dinner" on the car ride home. On the drive to Michigan I deprived them of all drinks (and fun) so we could make really good time. And we did. With all those kids AND a puppy, we only stopped once. And that was for the pup! My kids were so dehydrated that stopping on the way there wasn't even necessary for them. For the return trip Melissa and I decided to make it a bit more fun. Enter: a dinner of candy and chips. My kids were chanting in unison "Can-dy for din-ner! Can-dy for din-ner!" Proof that this is out of character for me? In the picture below my kids were chanting "Who is this lady!? Who is this lady!?"

They each got their own bag of chips and a pile of Canada's finest ninety nine cent bags of candy.

I always feel slightly depressed after returning home from a trip to Michigan. I really love my family. On the way home Melissa commented on how many kids there are between the three of us girls and that every single one of them is great. Kristin and BethAnn each have four kids and I have five. (My mom proudly announces this fact to every person within 6 counties.) That's a lot of kids to cram into one house for a weekend, but they are all such cool kids it's nothing but a delight. I honestly get really emotional thinking about proud I am of who they are all becoming. It breaks my heart a little every time I pack up my kids and have them say goodbye to their cousins. 

I thought of Adam a lot this weekend. I felt a palpable relief being home with my mom and sisters and knowing that they. just. know. I don't have to tell them how wonderful and also heart-wrenching it is to see my nephew Adam also wearing #17 on his jersey. I don't have to say that Ty runs like his Uncle Adam. I don't have to tell them that I wonder how many kids Adam would have added to that crazy mix of cousins.

I don't have to say any of it, because of all my kittens, they're the ones who just... know.  

For Day 23 I did something that must remain a secret for now. I will likely post later, but for now I want it to be a surprise for this person. In the meantime, I am going to offer you the opportunity to watch two short videos of my hilarious nephew Camden. He is the youngest of Kristin and Joe's four kids. I was the youngest of four in my family, and I definitely feel his pain in this dance video:

And finally, a throwback video that I took when Camden and I were on the Sea Dragon together a few summers ago. His reaction was epic and hilariously disproportionate to the thrill-level. Sharing this with you counts as my #AdamsActs to you because I promise that it does not disappoint. 

Day 18: All The Yeses (and a Few No's on Accident)

Yesterday I mentioned that I had the opportunity to speak with this crazy bunch of sixth graders:

I shared Adam's story with them and I challenged them to participate in #AdamsActs. They have a board all ready and set up and I am anxious to see if they can fill it up with acts of kindness!

One of the interesting things their teacher (my friend Michelle) asked me to discuss with the kids was how to write with purpose. I was challenged by this because I still feel like I'm not a real writer. I am just a kid who wants to be a writer someday when I grow up. In my "real life" I am a mess, I'm a wife and mom and a mediocre daughter/sister/friend. I have no marketable skills or any qualifications or noteworthy achievements. So, who am I to tell a group of kids how to write? 

This is the process that every phony goes through. We live in constant fear of being found out. The more I think about it, the more aware I am of my fear and insecurity. I don't want to call myself a writer because what if the stuff I produce isn't any good? What if I call myself a speaker, and I stop getting speaking gigs. There is safety in keeping my dreams at arm's length. You cannot fail at something you do not pursue. 

 Here's the thing though, as scary as it is to fail at something meaningful, I am more afraid of doing nothing. I think I would rather fall on my face in front of the whole world because I am chasing down the person God has designed me to become than never scuff a knee because I didn't dare take a single step forward. So I did it. I looked at this group of kids and even though I am afraid to fall, I told them I was a real writer.

And I told them that they were too. 

For Day 18, I made it a point to say yes to the little things. When I was in a rush, but my friend/neighbor's daughter asked if I'd like to come up to her room to smell all of her chapsticks, I gave a hearty yes. (That's a lie. Because I'm the worst... I actually said "Oh honey, I actually can't stay but maybe next time.") Then I quickly said, "Wait ya know what? I must be crazy to pass up THAT incredible opportunity! Sure, I'd love to smell your chapstick collection."

Who could turn down this face??

When Jay asked me to sing Five Little Pumpkins for 16 hours straight, I did it. When London wanted to bring the puppy to the girls cross country meet, I said yes. When Harper, London and Jay wanted me to tell funny stories for our half hour drive, I said yes. Little moments of being totally present are all our kids really want, so I said as many yeses to silliness and frivolity as possible. 

We brought (almost) enough ice cream bars to treat Annalee and Marlie's cross country teammates after their race. #fail 

Another fail to add to the list was that I tried to take a Facebook Live video for my family in Michigan to watch the girls' race, but my battery died just as Annalee was finishing in first place. Sorry Grandma. 

Days 15 & 16 - Kindness Co-op

I am going to combine Days 15 & 16 because I am a day behind on blogging. I blame Squarespace website swindlers (the people who make you buy your own name on the internet) because they won’t allow me to save drafts as I am working on them. They do this because they don’t just want your money, they want you to go absolutely insane. Well played Squarespace, you obvious victor you.

There is a bit of a theme to my kindnesses for these past two days so the last laugh is on Squarespace. Days 15 & 16 were really all about kids. The smallest of these #AdamsActs was for London and Harper (my own kids.) There was a bit of an altercation in the morning and we are really big on having the kids make repairs to their relationships with people when they’ve done something wrong or hurtful. They don’t just apologize (in fact I don’t like them to insincerely apologize ever) but they do have to acknowledge a few things. They must acknowledge:

1. This is what I did wrong.
2. This is why it’s wrong.
3. This is what I can do differently next time.

After acknowledging those things, they need to ask how they can make the other person feel better. After the struggle du jour, London decided that what would repair the damage to their relationship would be having Harper's help when cleaning her bedroom after school.

She doesn't exactly love cleaning by herself.

We always enforce that they follow through on the reparation agreement. This sounds like a lot of work, but I promise you that when you have a child with a behavioral disorder, there is a lot of opportunity for siblings to harbor resentment. This actually preserves relationships and in the long run actually saves a lot of time because they have learned how to resolve conflict themselves. Between this strategy and my husband's invention of The Tattle Tax, our children are practically parenting themselves.

So, here we are at #AdamsActs for London and Harper. They can both easily become overwhelmed with a multi-step chore. To make it more fun for them to work together, I will sometimes make these silly lists for them to break a big chore down into manageable - and sometimes silly - steps. They LOVE when I do this and it really is a kindness to myself because they work so much better together when the mood is light and playful. And a touch of potty humor usually does the trick.

This list:

Makes this job:

Suddenly way more fun.

My first act of kindness was to help my own kids, but my second and third #AdamsActs are about other kids. For the past two nights Tom and I spoke at two final panel discussions about foster care and adoption and I spent some time today connecting with a few different people from those meetings who wanted more information.

And finally, we signed up to sponsor a child through Compassion with our neighbors Danielle and Derek. You may find it ridiculous that we are going halfsies on a sponsorship, but look… these are some lean months for us and it would be reeeeeally easy to say no. But instead of saying “No, we cannot afford another $38 a month” we creatively decided that we probably could do $38 every other month! For some of us $38 is nothing, but for a lot of us it’s a really huge sacrifice to commit another $38 on top of regular giving. No matter what $38 means to us though, I can guarantee it means a lot more to these families who receive support through Compassion. I want to encourage you all to sponsor a child, or give to a different organization whose mission you value. And if you cannot afford to do it alone, grab a neighbor to share the burden with you. If you and your neighbor can swing it together, get the whole neighborhood involved. I don’t care if your kid’s whole soccer team splits the $38 a month… just do something! Do anything. And if we all partner together with these small kindnesses and small donations, we will collectively make a huge impact for kids like Erick.

Day 13: Privilege.

My blog posts are officially a day behind, so if you haven’t caught up on all the blogs… don’t feel too bad. I mean, feel a little bad, but just enough to go back and get all caught up. For Day 13 I was a guest speaker at Monroe Community College. I was asked to organize a diversity training for the student leaders of a group called Campus Ambassadors. The training will take place over the course of a few weeks, but my favorite place to start is with a privilege walk.

I think that this eye-opening experience should be required in schools. There are a number of ways that these privilege walks are done, but here is how I do it: I have all the participants stand next to one another, holding hands, in a straight line. I read aloud a series of prompts, such as:

-If your parents were married for the majority of your childhood, step forward.

-If your grandparents owned property, take a step forward.

-If you can freely travel the world without fear of sexual assault, step forward.

-If you were brought into this country illegally as a minor take a step back.

-If you had more than 50 books in your home growing up, step forward.

-If you regularly rely on public transportation, step back.

-If you ever participated in an activity that required a participation fee, step forward.

-If you grew up assuming you would attend college, step forward.

-If you can easily and reliably find hair and skin care products for your ethnicity and skin color (at an affordable price), step forward.

These are just some examples of questions that I ask. I do not allow participants to speak during the exercise because I think that the most common reaction to becoming aware of our privilege is to explain it away. When participants are taking steps forward while their peers/colleagues/friends are taking steps back, they eventually have to release hands. In that moment when you realize that your privilege has benefited you in a way that others have not experienced, it's normal to feel guilty and want to explain it away. We want to say “Sure, I went to a well-funded school but that doesn’t mean it was easy for me! I still had to work really hard. Should I feel guilty that I happened to go to a good school?”

No. You shouldn’t. That’s not the point of the privilege walk. The goal isn’t to make the people who are really far out in front (almost always the white males) feel guilty. The goal is to make everyone more aware. So, I ask people to remain silent and aware. This time, I asked one of the white guys to volunteer to try walking in someone else’s shoes. I had him respond to each question in the opposite way than he would in his real life. So, for example, when I said to “take a step forward if you grew up with fresh fruits and vegetables available on a daily basis” he would not step forward if that was true in his real life. Answering the opposite of his reality allowed him to experience a very different perspective than if he answered these questions as a white man who came from generational wealth opposed to minority woman experiencing generational poverty.  

This volunteer was so far behind the rest of the group there was a point that he could no longer hear the questions I was asking. He was leaning forward, cupping his ear, straining to hear the next prompt. If that isn’t a powerful picture of privilege… I honestly don’t know what is. People want to deny that white privilege exists, but to me, that is it in a nutshell. That by no fault of his/her own, a person’s inherited circumstances can put him/her at a significant disadvantage. Comparatively, some of us have unearned privileges that put us at an advantage.

What I like about this visual image is that it shows that privilege is not just racial – it’s also about socioeconomics, class, gender, religion, culture and physical/mental health. Can you imagine answering this series of questions that have nothing to do with a person’s personal choices, work ethic, values, etc. and telling the kid who is a dozen yards behind everyone else to pull himself up by his bootstraps? Can you imagine saying “Hey, I know you can’t hear the questions anymore because you are so far back in your circumstance that you no longer have access to all the tools, information and resources that are readily available to me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t work hard. You just need to work harder!”

No, you wouldn’t say that. Because you aren’t an enormous dirtbag. Still, that’s what a lot of us do in real life. We talk about equal opportunity, but we don’t talk a lot about equity. Yes, we all have equal opportunities… but those of us that are really privileged are standing a couple feet from opportunity while others start off life a half mile back.

My brother Adam won a Martin Luther King Jr. essay contest while he was in high school. His essay was about racism and cultural appropriation. This was the early 90’s by the way. Let that sink in a minute. The stuff we are all in a huff about right now in America – kneeling during the anthem, exploiting black culture via cultural appropriation, implicit bias, racial and social injustice… these were things that my brother – a privileged 17-year-old white kid from the suburbs – was intentional about exploring and understanding. Not only was he aware of his privilege, he leveraged his power, privilege and influence to educate and inspire others to think differently.

I know that discussing our privilege is uncomfortable. I know that I will get really hurtful and even hateful messages from some of you about this topic. But I also know that I will keep talking about it anyways. Because as hard as it is to ask people to become aware and to think differently, it is also right. Not because it is what my brother did, even though I think it’s pretty bad to the bone that he did in fact live this way. But I will do it because it’s what Jesus did. Loving people beyond reason, seeing beyond wealth and beauty into the heart... that is what Jesus did. It’s who he is, and it’s who I am called to be. So for Day 13, I asked people to examine their own circumstances and imagine the circumstances of others. I encouraged them to be willing to lay down their privilege in an effort to create equity for a friend.

Day 11: Being Unshockable

Okay Frank Fans, we have MADE CONTACT! If you have no idea what I'm talking about then you need to go back and watch THIS. Tonight we finally got ahold of Frank on the phone. He and his wife and daughter are coming over for dinner (and the cake presentation ceremony) on October 27!!! I will do everything in my power to force Tom and Frank to let me make a video so you can see their reunion. Frank was genuinely touched that Tom remembered those things so many years later... and he said it didn't hurt to get some brownie points with this wife. #yourewelcomefrank

For Day 11, I treated this cutie and her mama to lunch. (Okay, maybe not her... she treated herself to throwing cheerios and sugar packets.)

I spent time with her and later, another friend who are navigating the ups and downs of foster care/adoption. We spent hours talking through issues with attachment, openness with first parents, and how to help siblings cope with changes to the family dynamics. I certainly don't have all the answers, nor am I an expert on the topic, but I have spent countless hours researching different approaches to loving a traumatized child. I have tried everything under the sun to help my son heal the wounds of a severed attachment and I am pretty sure I have logged enough hours with my son's attachment therapist to count as an intern.

A few years ago, our friends Brandi and Danny helped us create this video that would explain to people what our family was experiencing. It is strange to watch it now because we have come so far as a family. Most of our days are still hard, but they aren't like they used to be. During those really intense years, I felt like there wasn't a single person who could understand what we were going through. I prayed for just one person who had gone through it before us with any measure of success. I longed for someone to be unshockable. Someone who had answers and tools and parenting tips that actually applied to my life. Someone who would say "here's how to get urine out of the heating vent." or "I have a potion that will magically unbleach all your clothes." 

There was no such person for me. Partly because I was afraid of opening myself up to the inevitable judgement (we were often bombarded with advice that really missed the mark) and partly because people didn't even know that Reactive Attachment Disorder was a thing until recent years. There weren't many parents who walked this road before us (at least not with tools) and that kept me feeling isolated and lost. Today, I got to be the lady who walked the road first. I got to pass along the tips and approaches that worked for us. I got to encourage and reassure and remind them that however they're feeling is normal in our little abnormal world of trauma and detachment. I was unshockable. 

This may not seem like much, but I got to be the experienced mom that I prayed would come into my life years ago. As I was leaving this discussion I realized that God has taken every last thing I have learned through this process and he has made it useful. He has taken our hard days, months, years... and with them has worn a path for other families who are a few steps behind us in this journey. During the worst of it, I begged that God would equip me to be the mom Harper needed. I think I can finally say that - at least for today - I felt like I was.

Day 9 & 10: Look for the Helpers

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

— Mr. Rogers

My two oldest daughters, Annalee (13) and Marlie (12) left Friday to go to the Adirondacks for a long weekend retreat with their youth group. Being 12 and 13 isn't easy. In a world where junior high girls are told that "real women have curves" and they must also have a "thigh gap" it is no wonder that girls in junior high can feel unstable! Society is a fickle turd, and the pressure that our kids face every day is overwhelming. They are supposed to fit in, but also be completely unique... go against the flow, but in a way that's charming and adorable, without being weird or acting like you care. Definitely don't act like you care! But, I mean... care enough to take a perfect selfie or else you're a total piece of garbage, but make sure the selfie looks like you didn't try. It'll take at least an hour to get a good, effortless selfie. You can have fat, but it has to be miraculously located in the right places so that you are curvy. If you have fat in the wrong place, starve yourself. Unless that makes your boobs small. It's better to be a little fat than to lose your boobs altogether. It's best to look like you have no makeup on, so get really good at makeup because it will take at least an hour of applying makeup to look like you aren't wearing any makeup. Also, your eyebrows should be somehow square at the edges. By the time you get good at giving yourself square eyebrows, that will be the dumbest thing you could possibly do and you will have to learn to make your eyebrows a hexagon or something. And eyebrows shouldn't ever under any circumstances look like they are made of actual hair, they should look like they were airbrushed on using a Kardashian eyebrow-shaped stencil. Also, just say no to pale skin, orrrr dark skin. You have to be mocha - regardless of your genetics, this is a non-negotiable. Also, play soccer from the time you are a fetus or you will not have a chance in the 7th grade. By then, players are practically in retirement. So 1) be born, and 2) start a sport immediately or you're a loser. 

That's a small taste of the pressure and unrealistic expectations that our kids face every day... and that's just the girls! There are academic pressures, social pressures, familial expectations, societal and cultural messages... it's an intense and scary world out there. Like Mr. Rogers, our kids need to look for the helpers. Days 9 & 10 were all about thanking the people who are there to help kids in junior high as they navigate life.

We brought Panera gift cards to the six youth leaders who spent the most time with my girls this weekend on the retreat.

I also bought some flowers and candy for a friend who took the time to step away with one of my girls when she was feeling down. It's not easy to send my precious newborn babies away for a whole weekend, but it helps knowing that they have good friends to listen, love and encourage them when they need it most. 

Bonus Update: We have located Frank - the hero of Tom's childhood misfortunes as told in THIS VIDEO! Tom has been working around the clock at his regular job, and on a house we need to repair and sell as quickly as possible so we have not met with him yet but we look forward to connecting with Frank and will keep you all posted! 

Day 8: Loving & Losing Imperfect People

My kindnesses for Day 8 are my least favorite. Today, I grieved alongside sisters that lost their brother and parents who lost their son. This was not the first funeral service I have sat through for someone whose life ended as a result of a drug overdose, nor was this our first family member to die as a result of drug addiction. On both sides of the family Tom and I have family members who battle drug or alcohol addiction, and today we said goodbye to Tom's cousin who died as a result of an intentional overdose.

For Day 8, the kids wrote letters to someone we love who is battling addiction and I spent time connecting with her. I reminded her that she is loved, that she is stronger than she realizes, and that she is not alone.

My brother's death was a tragedy. But, in a lot of ways my family is very fortunate. We can freely talk about what happened to Adam and (generally) there is no judgement, no shame, no assumptions about Adam's character. This is a luxury that many families do not know. Oftentimes, when people lose their loved ones as a result of a drug overdose or suicide, there is a cloud of shame that lingers over the surviving family members. The stigma surrounding the circumstances of these deaths often leads to secrecy and self-blame.

For my last act of kindness on Day 8, I want to de-stigmatize the topic of suicide and overdose so that survivors of suicide loss can grieve freely and openly, without shame. No matter how your loved one dies, it is painful and real and complex. Your loss is as valid as mine, your loved one was as loved as mine, your imperfect person was as special to you as my imperfect person was to me. And you are not alone.

Suicide and intentional/unintentional opioid overdoses are on the rise. There are lots of signs and symptoms to look out for and ways you can support an addict in your life. If you have already lost a loved one to suicide, mental health problems, or addiction there is a lot of online support out there. I guess I just want to free up anyone who might feel like they need permission to grieve just as fiercely and publicly as anyone else. Regardless of a persons' imperfect choices or circumstances of their death, each and every loss is profound. After all, there isn't anyone among us apart from God who has ever lost a perfect child.

Day 7: Videoblog featuring Tom's 2nd grade stories

We are one week in and #AdamsActs is on a mission to find and reward the unexpected kindness of Tom's long lost classmate. Please help us in FINDING FRANK! 

AdamsActs is on a mission to reward the kindness of Tom's long lost classmate.

Days 5 & 6: Sugar is All the Food Groups

When my sister BethAnn and I were little, one of our older siblings, Kristin or Adam would babysit us. When they did, they would serve one meal and one meal only. They would make an entire pan of brown sugar toast. What is brown sugar toast you ask? Well, first of all, it's perfection. Second of all, it's America's health crisis on a plate. In honor of Adam, I introduced my friends Lexi and Ben to a world where baking a thick layer of butter and brown sugar on an english muffin makes sense. And as part of my #AdamsActs for all of you, I now present:

Recipe For Brown Sugar Toast (or English Muffin)
1) Lightly toast the bread product of your choice. It doesn't really matter what you choose, the bread is just a vehicle to move that sugar into your person. If you make this correctly you won't know there is bread involved.
2) Heavily butter lightly toasted sugar transporter.
3) Add a hearty layer of brown sugar.
4) Nope, that's a reasonable amount. You'll need more.
5) Return to toaster oven or broiller until brown sugar goes through the melting phase and emerges as a hardened sugar crust.

Voila! Diabetes!
Source: Maybe my mom? I don't know. She should probably get the credit and/or be mom-shamed for allowing this to take place in her home.

In addition to this horrifying yet delicious breakfast, I also brought some homemade corn chowder to my friend Heather. She has had sick kiddos for a few days and her husband Josh is being all self-disciplined and only eating locusts and honey or something like that so I figured that Heather needed something warm, comforting and most importantly... made by someone else. Josh and Heather are a foster family and when I think of people who are on the front lines of loving people like Jesus, it's definitely them. You can learn more about their life HERE on their blog - which is insightful and encouraging and challenging at the same time. 

When you have kids that come from hard places, you measure "good days" very differently than most people. I know this from personal experience. Being a mom of a child with Reactive Attachment Disorder (which I share about HERE), there was a long time that "a good day" for us meant that mommy didn't get any fresh injuries. So, when Heather and her adorable children have good days - I really want to celebrate with them. When they have bad days, I want to be an encouragement because I know what hard days can look like in the world of foster care and adoption. And when they have the stomach flu, I really want to stay far, far away. But also send soup. 

I spent all day doing hair and makeup for 7 people in a wedding this evening, including the beautiful bride to whom I gave a discount for Day 6 of #AdamsActs. I also bought some materials for something I have planned for another day, but you'll just have to wait on that one. 

I have been on the receiving end of #AdamsActs this week as well. One follower mailed me a life changing pie from Georgia. It was like Adam's brown sugar toast crust made it's way onto a pie. Yes please. Hundreds of you have supported me by purchasing my devotional - which makes me ugly cry myself to sleep out of gratitude and affection for all of you. My friend Melissa came in from NYC and gathered her friends Jess and Peter, and cousin Tori, and forced them into manual labor at our old house that we need to sell like yesterday. My friends covered all the food groups: Nan brought my family donuts, Courtney brought us cookies, Lisa brought gluten-free cookies for London (my little celiac/hashimoto's baby.) Cheesecake from Danielle. Lexi and my mother-in-law Cindy tag teamed watching my five kids today so I could work the wedding. Cindy made me eggs. Lexi lent me this computer I am typing on because Tom was out of town presenting at a nerd conference... eh hem, I mean a technology conference and he had to take our only computer with him.

While he was away, I received my favorite act of kindness this week. This photo of my husband doing a presentation on team approaches to online nerd development... eh hem, I mean course development. In the middle of his presentation he shamelessly plugs #AdamsActs!! That's my man!