Please Excuse the Mess...

I have a sign hanging in my family that says this:

Please excuse the mess.  The children are making memories.

It doesn't make much sense when people come over, because when I have company, I pretend that we are tidy people.  In reality, we live in squalor... which is why my friend, Sam, thought of me when she saw this sign.  It was the sweetest, most offensive gift I ever got.

You see, for about three years now, Sam and I have met almost every Friday morning at the world's worst diner to do our Bible study together.  It is a time where we ask for accountability, we give unsolicited advice, we verbally abuse challenge each to grow in areas where we are struggling, and we confess how poorly we keep house.  Okay, she keeps her house pretty tidy... but, in my defense, I have twice as many walkers making a mess, so I blame the tiny toddling disaster-people.  Soon, my kids will be older and more responsible and her non-walking baby will start walking, and will make the place an absolute pig sty.  I look forward to the day I can smugly pass that sign back to her.

But, for now... it really belongs where it's at.

Day 8: I am thankful for my home.

I want to say that I am thankful for my home because I am a domestic goddess that keeps it sparkling at all time, after all I have a magic eraser in a holster alongside a toothbrush meant just for scrubbing.  Sadly, this would not be an accurate picture of me, or my home.  I won't say that it is a dump or anything, it is just so constantly lived in, that I can't stay on top of it.  I once took the time to figure out how much money I would make if I was actually being paid to do all of the things I do as a mom.  I could definitely afford a cabana boy housekeeper if I made just a little something for each monotonous task.

Well, until that happens, I am in charge of my home... so it isn't perfect.  So, instead of feeling thankful for my home just when every surface is completely free of calendars, art projects, yearbook order forms, and grocery lists... I am going to focus on being thankful for my house, just as it is.

I mean, deep down, don't we all want to be loved for who we are, just the way we are??  My house is old and lovely and she has kept us warm and safe for six full years now!  Doesn't she deserve a little unconditional love??  So, I am thankful for my home.  Clean or messy, quiet or chaotic... I am just thankful for it.

I love that our old heaters tick and bang.  I love that our house is very tall.  I love that we have brought two of our babies home to this house.  I absolutely love my bedroom.  I love it.  It is a cross between a rugged cabin and a bed and breakfast... and it makes me happy.

More than anything though, it is just the venue in which much of my life takes place.  So, I could honestly take it or leave it.  It's just the shell.  I am thankful for it, but I am not the type of person who gets really attached to objects.  I would love to move, again and again, and never stay in one place.  I am thankful that we have a home, but I am mostly thankful that it is filled with kids and noise and so many memories... and I am even thankful for the mess.

Okay, now I am just lying.


*note: the actual mess featured below the sign!




Here is what I am hoping you will do... have someone over to your home without cleaning up first.  Let them see the squalor in which you live, and let them love you in spite of it.  (They will judge you silently, and buy you a sign if it's really that bad.)  If your house is impeccable, then be thankful that you do not live within a stone's throw of me... because I would constantly be throwing stones at your and your stupid cleanliness.


Day 7: My Husband: A Close Second to a Good Breakfast

Okay, this time I really am thankful for my husband.  Our wedding anniversary is at the end of this month, so I was going to try to wait until then... but, after dissing him in this video yesterday, I felt like I should extend a peace offering.

First of all, I should clarify that Tom was not really enraged about my cinnamon halo.  When he opens the microwave at 6:30pm to heat something up, and he sees my ice cold coffee just sitting in there from the last time I did a reheat and forgot about it... his "enraged" response is that he blinks a little slower than usual.

Honestly, that is about as angry as he gets.  I am not exaggerating when I say that I have only heard Tom raise his voice on extremely rare occasions, and on those occasions there was either imminent danger, or we were sleeping in a thuderstorm.  Or someone poured cold water on him during a shower.  He does not love that.  He is a very gentle man, not in a weak way, but in a warm and comforting way.  My kids will likely never understand how lucky they are to have him as their daddy.

This past Sunday, our pastor gave a really great sermon about serving others.  One thing he said that stood out to me was when he addressed dads, saying that "nobody in the home should outserve" them.  For most guys listening to that, my guess would be that they were either ashamed, offended, convicted or guilty.  I can say though, that this is absolutely, 100% already true of Tom.  Hands down, he outserves us all.

I feel like I should try to give him a run for his money at least... but, there is no chance.  He is an invested, involved and interested dad... so he reads, he helps with homework, he wrestles and plays and is Mr. Napkin-head.  He is a good provider, and he sacrifices all the time, putting everyone else in front of himself.  He makes decisions based on what he believes he should do, never what he wants to do.

Granted, that last one can be taken a little too far... at a restaurant, 100 times out of 100, my husband wants a chicken finger basket.  Never in my life have I wanted a chicken finger basket, but he always wants one.  If you woke him up at 3:30 in the morning and asked him if he'd fancy a chicken finger basket, he would probably weep, because the dream he was in the middle of having, just came true.  Still, he "feels" like he should probably "try something different," so he orders some spinach wrap that never tastes like a chicken finger basket.  Even in ordering, he tries to do the right thing.  He is just a really good guy.  (Horrible orderer, but great guy.)

I am thankful for how Tom treats me.  You can't even begin to imagine what it is like to live with me.  Just a taste of life with me would send weaker men running in the other direction.  I would totally run in the other direction if it were an option, so it perpetually shocks and blesses me to know that Tom could fake his own death to get out of living with me, but he chooses not to.  I'm a handful y'all, and he doesn't just tolerate me... he seems to enjoy me most of the time!

Tom works from home.  Men with regular wives might find this to be a challenge, but in our house it is absolutely ridiculous.  I want to tell him things all day.  He calmly and patiently listens to my crazy ideas every five minutes, and he even survived The Great Video Chat Obsession of 2011, wherein I would video chat him constantly.  From downstairs.

We laugh together all the time, and when we disagree, we do so amicably.  That is 100% because of Tom.  Trust me when I tell you that I am not being humble about this... I AM A FIGHTER.  I don't like being told what to do, I don't like being wrong, (although that almost never happens), and I don't like pretending things are okay if they are not.  I have never loved these things about myself, but I can clearly see how God has used Tom to soften me.  I am still pretty feisty, but in all reality, I do not need to be a fighter.  I don't need to defend myself, and protect myself, and I don't need to look out for myself all the time... I have the kind of guy who wants to fight for me, defend me, protect me and put my best interest ahead of his own.  I mean... how can you fight with that kinda guy??

He really made me lose my edge.  What a jerk.

So, this is it.  I married a pretty phenomenal man, and I am thankful that the Lord has paired us together to refine, encourage and playfully insult one another.






Three Thankfuls for the Price of One.

I am sorely behind on my month of gratitude.  I think that not blogging on the weekends may happen more often than not, so... let's all just start being fine with that, shall we?

So, Day 3: I am thankful for lightheartedness.  I know that sounds cheesy, but I have had a pretty heavy life (if you read my blog last month, then you know what I mean... that was just ONE month of all my baggage people!  Can you imagine 12 of those!?!?)  Anyways, life is hard.  We are all faced with adversity, challenges and the limitless shortcomings of people around us.  Okay, okay... it is possible that my own shortcomings also make life a little touch and go at times.  That being said, I am deeply thankful for any moment that is not just "easy," but truly joy-filled.

I am most thankful for the playful moments... jokes, laughter, affection, friendly banter that may seem a little like verbal abuse, but are really just fun jabs at the expense of your loved ones.  These are the moments that I treasure.  I am so thankful that I can honestly say that the people I am related to, are people that I would actually choose to be friends with.  This is miraculous.  My life is so filled with heartache at times, that I can't help but rejoice in every drop of dry humor, sarcasm and hilarity that each day offers up.

My challenge to you:  Make somebody feel lighthearted.  Give a really specific and genuine compliment to cheer someone up, be more affectionate than normal (not like heavy petting, just a non-pervy hug or maybe just a high five if you can't control yourself.) Or make somebody laugh really hard.  Just email somebody with a word or phrase that will trigger a hilarious memory or inside joke.  I just sent a heytell message to my step-sister that only she would understand, and it will surely make her laugh until she pees a little.  And isn't that the point??

Day 4: I am thankful for pain.  Weird right?  But, try and follow... I once saw an episode of Oprah, where a little girl could not physically feel any pain.  She was constantly injuring herself, because she never really learned to not run directly into the corner of a coffee table.  Without pain, our brain never receives the signal to avoid danger.  Pain is a really important part of survival.  It is also the place where we become so aware of our uselessness and weakness, that we are forced to look for something bigger than ourselves.  If I hadn't had a heavy dose of pain at a very young age, I believe that I would have been susceptible to believing that life is good, people are good, and I am pretty good.  Instead, pain has taught me that actually, life is hard, all people are capable of heinous sins, and I am as sin-sick as any of us.  Pain has taught me that God is the only source of good.  Pain is where I first met Christ, and through His pain on my behalf, I am freed from my sin-sickness and will actually be equipped to do or be something good.  Without pain, we would all need to wear helmets, and we would think we could handle this life on our own, and we might even feel like we could escape this life unscathed.  What a preposterous and ridiculous perspective.

So, I am thankful for pain.  It keeps my kids from touching fire, and it keeps me from buying shoes too small, and it keeps my heart desperately seeking the only One who offers any relief.

My challenge to you:  Thank someone who taught you a painful lesson that you needed to learn.  That, or punch someone really hard and make them thank you.  (Only kidding.)

Day 5:  I am thankful for the country I live in.  I am thankful that I have freedom to say whatever absurd things I want.  I am thankful that I have a voice, and that I have enough guts to speak up, even when it is scary.  I am going to use my voice and my freedom later this month, to speak out against the atrocities that are happening at the hands of LRA leader, Joseph Kony.  While many have found Invisible Children and their efforts somewhat controversial, some friends and I have decided to take the opportunity to join them at the global summit in Washington D.C.  Whether you agree with the organization's methods in stopping war crimes, child sex-slavery, and children forced to become soldiers or not... this is a way to bring this issue before important law-makers without giving to Invisible Children as a cause.  In my opinion, it is the perfect opportunity to use our small voices to collectively speak up for those who have suffered at the hands of Kony and the LRA.

Here is My challenge to you: consider the country we live in and how blessed we are to have the freedoms we have, and consider speaking up and DOING something on behalf of those with no voice.  This is just one opportunity.





The Easiest Thing for me to Write About

I am thankful for my kids.  I know this seems like a cop out, but seriously, if you met my kids... you would probably report my poor housekeeping skills to CPS to try to get custody of them. That's how awesome my kids are.  I am so tired, and have such a headache... so, i am going to default to list mode.

Day 2:

  • Even when my kids make me nuts, they are hilarious and adorable.
  • They mispronounce things in such awesome ways, I can't correct them because I never want it to change.  (Who would want to correct Meglical Joidan back to Michael Jordan or say lasagna once you know alabazunia is an option??  How could we ever go back to "family movie nights" when "fanny noonie nights" are so much fun!?)
  • They give the worst compliments, that are really the best.  Like "Thank you, Mama, for these yucky eggs!"
  • They are so honest. ("I don't like your air smell." aka breath.)
  • They have given me the chance to have my dream job.
  • They still want me to come to their school and eat lunch with them and read books to their class.
  • They all sleep in a specific position, but there are no repeats.  
  • Awake or asleep, they are completely unique individuals, which I feel like is rare for a large family.
  • When London wakes up, she has one flap of hair on top of her head that sort of stands up and waves back and forth slowly like it is under water.  It is a gravity-defying miracle on top of a child's head.
  • Harper tells me I am beautiful pretty much every day, even if I haven't showered in decades.
  • Annalee has a scroll the width of our block with detailed illustrations of tiny vegetable people.
  • Marlie can identify most of the seasonings and spices in a dish, using only her sense of smell.
  • Harper can dribble better than most junior high basketball coaches.
  • I don't know if her clock is ticking or what, but London cannot pass a baby on the street without petting him and gently shooshing him, then asking if we can keep him.
  • If it isn't a school night, the girls sleep together on the top bunk and stay up late having "quiet sister talk."  If you press for details all you can get outta them is that they talk about "their feelings."
  • They have inspired me to say and do things I never thought I would say or do.
I could seriously go on and on about them forever.  Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while already know that.  :)  I am thankful for them and I will never understand how in the world I am the one who gets to be their mother.  

All of us either have kids, work with kids, know kids, or know somebody else who has kids.  It is a big responsibility to have influence in a child's life.  I am going to work on encouraging parents more, and I am going to work on the way I speak to my kids.  I want to eliminate all harsh or critical talk and only speak nurturing, life-giving words to them.  Here goes nothing!  What child could you influence??

1st Month Free, 2nd Month... I Put You to Work

I just finished one of the crazier months I have had in a long time.  Kindnesses were randomly splattered across Rochester by my friends and I, then across the country by so many of you who got on board and joined in!  I was inspired by how many people are really eager to DO something.  We also had an unsuccessful adoption, and are back to square one, just waiting... but, now we wait with this whole new fear and fragility that we hadn't had before.  I am ready for this month to bring new things, new life, and who knows... maybe the baby that God has selected to be in our family forever will finally make his or her way home.   

For the month of November, I have gone back and forth, counted votes and suggestions through emails, facebook comments, texts and calls.  Here is what I have decided... I have no idea what to do for the month of November.  I wanted to choose something that would keep everyone super involved and excited and inspired... but, the bottom line is that I am not that interesting.  I am a story-teller, yes, and I am passionate about sharing my life and struggles with other people, but it is really all pointless if there is no bigger purpose behind it.  I don't have any interest in telling all my deep, dark secrets in such a public way... if it does not inspire transformation.  So, I am going to spend the next 30 days reflecting on the things I am most thankful for, but I don't want to stop there... I want to MOVE in some sort of responsive ACTION.  Here's the thing though, I want you to come with me this time.

First I am going to tell you what I am going to do, and then I want you to think about what you are going to do.  Our generation has been accused of being major slackers.  Let's be honest, we are a shortcuttin' people are we not???  So, there is a part of that accusation that is true.  When we actually try to stand up for something, people have called it "slacktivism."  (It is such a clever insult, I can't even hate on it.)  But, I would like us to try and prove this to be untrue.

I will continue to pour out my heart, openly share my struggles, and take comedic jabs at my poor husband... but, only if you guys join me.  Well, leave the Tom-jabbing to me, but other than that... this is an "all-skate" as my pastor would say.  It is audience participation time!!  Get. on. board.

So, Day 1.  I am overwhelmingly thankful for my mother today.  I cannot bear to spend more than a few moments at a time thinking of how she felt 20 years ago today, when she had to come home and tell us that Adam was gone.  I remember each slow-motion moment, and I hope that I never have to dream of being as strong as she has been.  

As I shared before, I was dressed as my brother for Halloween the year that he was killed, and I came home and took off his warm-ups and sat down in his wrestling singlet and ate candy until I was about to vomit.  The next morning, when my mom and sister (Kristin) and her, then, fiancee (Joe) came home from the hospital, Adam's warm-ups were still on the floor.  As clearly as if it happened this morning, I can remember my mother seeing that little pile of Adam's clothes, crumpled from when his baby sister stepped out of them the night before, and asking Joe (with her sad eyes and one small movement of her hand) to take them away.

In a moment that a mother's pain could so easily have drifted her away to another world... she stayed there in the most painful moment of her life, so she could try to protect my sister (BethAnn) and I.  Nothing could have softened that moment that we learned that Adam would never come home, but the fact that my mom tried, makes her the most amazing woman on planet earth.  

I am so proud of who my mom is, and how she has faithfully served God and ministered to the souls of other woman who have lost their children.  She is funny and ridiculous and she taught me that it is better to stand out for being yourself than to blend in by pretending you are somebody that you're not.  She was the primary influence in me becoming who I am.  The original Hurricane Sandi, my mother and friend, and also my hero.  

(Besides Norm Green.)

So, here is what I am going to do.  I am going to publicly declare that my mother was always right.  There is truly nothing else that I could do that would make her happier.  You, Mom, were right about everything.  I will also call her to say thank you for every dime she spent on me, and every prayer she prayed over me, and every tournament she drove me to.  I will thank her for the surprise outings she took us on (except for that one time where she was like "surprise, it's a horrible musical!")  I will thank her for letting me check out as many audio casette/books in those huge ziplock bags from the library as I wanted.  I will thank her for being her, and for letting me be me.  

Now, it's your turn... time to call yo mama... or someone who plays a motherly role in your life, and tell her why you are thankful for her.  Then, share your story in the comment thread below.  Take it from me... we are all in this together, and when you think you are telling your own story, you are probably telling someone else's too.  So, let's spend this month giving thanks together and sharing our stories with each other, and for each other.
 


 

Helping the Ho Ho Homeless

For Day 31, the final day of my 31 Random Acts of Kindness, I put together a bag of stuff to deliver to a homeless man... Warm coat, warm socks, gum, snacks, meal replacement bars, candy, soap, cocoa, tea, etc.  I hit a few of the spots where there are some "regulars" but nobody was there.  We had dinner plans and trick-or-treating with friends, so we bagged the hunt for the homeless, and decided to try again on our way home.  We pretty much just drove through the worst parts of the city looking for a homeless person who might want tea.


This led to a totally ridiculous dialogue between Tom and I. Here are some highlights...

L: I don't know, everyone looks homeless.
T: No, he is walking too fast.  The homeless don't have to rush around like that.
L: Just because he is carrying so many plastic bags doesn't mean he is homeless.
T:  Have you ever seen anyone who isn't homeless carry that many bags?
L: Let's just see if that guys needs anything.
T: I'm not just going to assume that someone is homeless, I am not stopping until I am sure.  I need to see someone actually lying on cardboard before I approach them.
L: There are never any homeless people when you need one.
T: I don't know... maybe they cured homelessness.

We ended up bringing our care package to a local mission.  We are hoping that one of the extremely well-hidden homeless men in Rochester will come to the mission tonight, looking for a bed, and will discover a warm coat and some snack foods.  This felt a little like a fail, which is not how I wanted to go out... but, I also think that the idea here is that we are trying.  The intentionality of the kindnesses are the point.  It becoming a way of life is the point.  Glorifying God by seeing past ourselves, is the point.  I think that we accomplished those things this month.  

By the end of the night, spectacles were mangled, all the givers were "thank you ma'am"-ed, the candy was sorted and bartered, and we had a good time with friends and family.  There are only a few minutes left in the month of October, and while that is usually a good thing, I have to admit that I am feeling like I have to say goodbye to a dear friend I don't want to let go.  Partly because this is the most connected I have felt to Adam since he died.  And partly because this is the closest I have felt to the community of people who knew and loved him during his short life.  And also because of the amazing stories many of you have shared with me, of kindnesses that you passed on and ways that you creatively served others.

I believe that I will make this a yearly tradition for my family because I can't imagine a better way to celebrate the memory of Adam's life, instead of focusing just on his death.  

As promised, I took lots of pictures of my four little Santas.  I was Mrs. Clause and Tom was an elf.  You may have to look close on Tom's but he has pointy felt ears, and a curl on his shoes.  ***Important Advisory!!! If you have a heart condition, or are easily nauseated, do not look at the following pictures.  I made myself into a future version of myself.  I was saddened by how disturbed Tom was with Elderly Me.  It ain't pretty y'all, I'm not gonna lie.  (But, Tom probably should have.)




























Man Cannot Live on Potatoes Alone

Tomorrow is Halloween.  This is usually the day that I am dreading.  I never know how I am going to feel or what I will want to do, so I dread making plans that I will feel I have to keep.  I spend the week (or two) before Halloween pouring myself into making homemade costumes, like these:

Jesse from Toy Story 2

Daniel Son and Capatin Awesomehook 

Two Cupcakes and a Candle 

A Chick hatching out of an egg, Jesse, Al from Al's Toy Barn and Lebron James

Prince Moustachio


This is how I spend shameless amounts of time, distracting myself from the pain of the anniversary of my brother's death, and focusing on the fun and silliness of the day instead.  This year, all four kids are going to be Santa Claus.  How about that for all your pagan rituals knocked out in one??  Take that legalism.

Anyways, I asked Harper what I should do for my act of kindness when I was sitting knee deep in Santa Fur and red felt... and he said "I don't know, maybe you could make four Santa costumes for us?"  

So, let us count that as kindness #1: handmade Santa costumes for the children... complete with beards, spectacles (thanks Aunt Carlie for making those!), and fur-trimmed toy sacks which double as candy bags.  I might count this as a kindness to all of mankind again tomorrow when I post the picture.  Trust me when I tell you that there is nothing better than four Santas of varying sizes, genders and skin tones.  

Kindness #2: I agreed to start driving a little girl to and from ballet twice a week.  Her mother has work conflicts and would no longer be able to do ballet if someone couldn't take her back and forth.  This might be one of the most challenging and sacrificial Acts of Kindness I have done so far.  It is a mad scramble to get to ballet on time as it is... 

My original Kindness #3 will be postponed until tomorrow because Tom feared for my safety and forbid me from this late-night kindness and instead forced me to commit...

Kindness #4: delivering Indian food to a bachelor down the street who had only eaten potatoes for dinner.


Okay, Tom didn't force me.  I tried to force him, and he wouldn't cave so I delivered some of the dinner that I made, plus a refreshing beverage.  The neighbor seemed very excited and said I was awesome.  Tom coulda been a part of all that... but, he just hates kindness, and bachelors, and he wishes all-potato dinners on everyone he sees.

As for me, I am finding myself dreading Halloween a little less than normal.  It has been a totally different experience using the whole month to really think about Adam in a positive way.  I think that October will start to feel less and less about the anniversary of my brother's death, and more about the month where I serve others intentionally because that is who my brother was, and that is who God requires me to be.  


I Hope Sandy's Hungry

Today was a potpourri of kindnesses.  

Kindness #1: I left my purse at church on Sunday and it was rescued by the children's ministry director and his wife, so I thanked him when I went to church to retrieve my purse by bringing him a thermos full of hot, spiced cider.  

Problem #1: His wife was really the heroin of the purse, so I probably cider-gifted the wrong person.
Problem #2: When the kids discovered that I had given the rest of the spiced cider to Mr. Matt, they made it clear that they were ready to be done giving our treats away to other people to be kind.  

Kindness #2: I bought a few extra stamps to leave with the cashier at the post office for other customers who need stamps.

Kindness #3: I bought a snickers for the checkout lady at the grocery store.

Problem #3:  All my little extras have started adding up... I should have budgeted for a kindness expense account so that we can stop hovering just above the poverty line.

Kindness #4:  I gathered and returned people's grocery carts for them so they could get out of the rain as soon as they loaded their groceries into their cars.

Problem #4:  People were bulking up on staples in preparation for power outages, so that meant a lot of standing in the rain waiting for their carts.  This made them slightly uncomfortable, and put me at moderate risk of hypothermia.  

Kindness #5: I brought a meal and a few basics (well, carrot cake isn't technically a basic, unless you have taste buds...) to a man who recently lost his wife.  He is living alone and his daughter is very near and dear to my heart, but she lives out of state.  So, a little extra love and care from me, is like a little love and care from her.  So, I think he was blessed by my delivery.



Problem #5:  This man was not at home, so I had to leave the items on his porch.  Normally this wouldn't be that big of a deal, if it weren't for...

Problem #6: Hurricane Sandy.

I know people always say that it is the thought that counts, but sometimes it is actually eating the dinner that counts.  "What!? You're dinner blew away entirely!?  Oh... well, it's the thought that counts."  Nobody would ever say that because it's so stupid.  So, I am hoping that his dinner survived.

I quintupled up on Acts of Kindness partly because I am nearing the end of this month, and I want to get in as much as I can while I am this focused and intentional about doing it... but also because it has become a habit.  I don't know if I can ever go through the grocery check-out and chose to not spring for the extra 70 cents to make someone's day.  It is just becoming a way of life... which is really bad news for my kids who think that in a few days I will stop giving away all our candy.


Okay, readers, followers, friends... I have a favor to ask.  I am in a blogging groove with my daily posts, and many of you have asked me what I am going to do in November. The answer... surprise! I have no idea.  So, tell me this... what would YOU like to see me do for the month of November?  Place your votes in a comment below or on facebook or through an email or private message.  Send me a telegram if you must... but I need input!  I want to keep going because I have so enjoyed sharing this journey with so many of you, it's about time you people helped me carry all this baggage! ;)  

A Face-Off With Injustice

One time, I threatened to beat the crap out of a tween.  

True story, and it actually wasn't that long ago.  There were a couple of tweens who were babysitting for one of the girl's nephews and they were terrorizing the poor kid at a playground.  The girl was about 12-13 years old and the little boy was probably 2 1/2 or 3.  (Just about the age of my little London...)



The girls were using horrific language, include racial slurs, and were forcing the poor baby down a big slide... one of those tall, dark, corkscrewing tube slides, and he was terrified.  He was gripping the top of the slide like his life depended on it, screaming and crying, and the girls were just laughing at him and they were using their feet to try to push him down the slide.  Something in me absolutely snapped. 

I am not saying that this is how I should have handled it, but I walked over there and let 'er rip.  I told this girl that she had absolutely no business spending time with her nephew if she is going to treat him like that.  I asked them if they felt pretty big and bad because they could make a toddler cry.  I called them miserable bullies and then I said that if I was that boy's mother that I would tear their faces off, and if I hear them use the N-word one more time in front of my children, that I actually will tear their faces off.

I can't say with 100% certainty, but I am about 95% sure that I committed a crime during all the threatening and the flailing.  (Oh, did you not picture flailing?  Trust me, these gangly arms went buck nutty.  I don't think it helped my street cred, but I think I was subconsciously implementing a strategy I learned from camping in bear country... if you stumble upon a dangerous beast, make yourself appear as large as possible.  So, when threatened, I flail a little.)  

I don't know if the girls were scared or embarrassed or if they were just plain stunned by this interaction with a total wild woman, but they left pretty quickly after that and waited until they were a half mile away, before they started yelling their comebacks at me.   By that time I had already returned to my also-stunned family eating dinner, and tried to explain why Mommy was "talking a little rough and rudely to the strangers."

I sort of think this is a metaphor for my whole life.  I am not a person to sit on the sidelines, or to watch something go down that I don't think is right.  I am just one of those people who is going to speak up or speak out.  Trust me when I tell you that I am not bragging... clearly I don't handle situations correctly all the time!!  But, I can't not try.  There is just something inside of me that longs for justice and for peace.

I was reminded today from an old friend of my brother's how his death left so many young people with the devastating realization that in this world, there is rarely justice.  This led to a huge march and a petition with thousands of signatures, all calling out for justice.  We wore t-shirts and carried a banner donning the slogan "No Justice, No Peace."  These words lit a fire in me then, and now, when things like this happen, and there is a victim who cannot speak for himself, I simply cannot help but speak from him.  

Though I do not speak as politely as I should - I am working on that, I truly am.  I wish that I could have gone to those girls calmly, with my arms staying down at my sides, and said to them "Ladies, I know that you probably lack parental guidance and maybe you were treated like this when you were little... but, what you are doing to this little boy is not right, and it wasn't right when people treated you like that either.  Come now, let us hug it out and I shall retrain you on all the ways of behaving nicely at the playground."  I want to be cool and calm and have superb control over my limbs at all times. But, even if I blow it sometimes, this thing in me, this mama-bear alarm that erupts in me at the sight of the helpless, is one of the few qualities about myself that I love.

The reality is that I am a work in progress and that I blow it, yes, but I have never regretted standing up for what I believe in.  I have never regretted helping the underdog, trying to break up a fight, or to protect someone who is defenseless.  I don't always handle it the right way, in fact I am sure I handle it poorly most of the time, but the actual drive inside of me to respond at all in a world that is sometimes so silent, is a gift from the God who created me for a purpose.  

I spent a few hours on the phone with Adam's best friend earlier this month.  He walked me through moment by moment the night that Adam was killed.  He answered a lot of questions that I didn't even realize that I had.  It was a painful conversation, but it was also a relief in a way.  I could stop wondering about what happened to my brother that night, because every time I did... my victim alarm would sound so loudly it was deafening.  My desire for justice will never be satisfied in the case of my brother's death, but I can honestly say that I think maybe we were wrong about our slogan.  I think that peace doesn't come from justice at all... perhaps peace can only come from grace.

I might be wrong, but I have found that in this past month of extending kindness in the memory of my brother, and living in light of all of the beautiful graces God has shown me... I have had more peace than if I were still in the fight for justice.  In my opinion, the man who killed my brother could have gone to jail for the rest of his life, and he would have gotten what he deserved.  Justice would have been served, but I don't think that would bring my parents anymore peace in the loss of their only son.

I am finding that true and lasting peace only comes from living in light of and in response to the Greatest Act of Kindness that a very just and gracious God extended to me, through the loss of His only Son.




Day 28: We returned our library books with this attached to it.  Sometimes speaking up for the underdog means threatening to tear the face off of a bully, and sometimes it means encouraging a librarian.  But, no matter what speaking up ends up looking like... I think that I will modify our old slogan when I am bringing up my kids in this very unjust world.  Perhaps instead of teaching them that there will be no peace unless there is justice, I will introduce them to the Prince of Peace, who is in charge of justice.  No Jesus, No Peace... That has a pretty redemptive ring to it.  

Wrestling with Memory & Regret

My brother was a wrestler.  He was a very good wrestler.  For those of you who are picturing Hulk Hogan in a skin tight leotard, you are not even close.  When I say wrestling, I mean the technical, athletic, focused, discipline of actual wrestling.  This means nothing to most of you, and I am fine with that.  I like being a part of a small percentage of people who have yelled the phrase "up and out!" at an athletic competition.  I don't mind that very few people know what I am talking about, in fact I prefer it.  

I love that my memories of my brother are exclusive.  I prefer that my memories of him are just mine alone.  But, I also fear that they are slipping away from me.  I can remember, a year or two after Adam passed away, the realization that I could not remember what his hands looked like.  No matter how hard I tried, I just could not remember his hands.  Then it was his voice.  To this day, I cannot remember his voice.  

Sometimes, I dream of Adam.  Almost always, we are skiing together, which is weird because in real life, we never skied together.  In real life I missed Adam's 17th birthday because I wanted to go skiing with my friends, except I don't think they were really my fiends.  I think what really happened was that some of my friends had gotten in trouble and were not allowed to hang out with each other... but they were allowed to hang out with me, because I was a "good girl."  So, my friends (who actually wanted to see each other) asked me to go skiing so that they could hang out with one another.  They asked me to go skiing on January 26th.  My brother's 17th birthday.  That was as old as he would ever be,  and I wasn't there to celebrate because I went skiing with friends who really had no interest in being with me.

I have hated myself for that for so long, and I have never told anyone, besides my husband, this story.  I wish so much that I was with him for the last birthday of his life.  I dream of skiing with him, and I dream that he forgives me and that I bring him a big present and everything is fine.

I am almost done with my 31 days of kindness.  I don't think I am ready to be done with it, because it is the closest I have come to hearing my brother's voice again that I don't want to stop.  I am terrified of losing more of him, and I am afraid of letting go of the hurt of losing him, because sometimes it feels like all I have left to remember him by.

Then, I think of what only I know.  I think of sitting next to him on the couch while he shakes his feet habitually, to "make weight."  I think of me and my friend, Sarah, hiding candy from him because we didn't know that it was his.  I think of when he and I talked about my parents getting divorced and him telling me who I would need to be: the forgiving one, the compassionate one, understanding everybody and hearing everyone out.  I remember watching him do his hair, and talk about the girl he liked, and the time he was proud of me for being defiant.  

Some of these details I will always keep to myself, because they are my sacred... my treasured secrets that nobody gets to sit in on.  I will hold these memories as long as I can, and I look forward to the day that I hear my brother's voice again in heaven.

For Day 27, my sister-in-law and I brought dinner to a widower who is on dialysis three times a week.  He lost his wife fifteen years ago and I am certain that he has plenty of memories of her that he keeps all to himself.  He probably has a world of regrets, like my skiing day, and I am certain that a lot of those regrets will remain until the day he dies.  

I am glad that we were able to bring a meal to this man, and while he is battling the inevitability that he will forget his wife; her hands, her voice... we were able to make him feel that he is remembered, that he isn't alone, even if he can't remember her... 




Oxygen First, Then Helium

Day 25 may seem like I was cheating, but hear me out because this was one of the more difficult Acts of Kindness for me. Yesterday, I took the day to be kind to myself. I know what you're probably thinking, "psh, big sacrifice."

Well, I am not going to pretend it was random or sacrificial... because it was totally indulgent, but I think that many of us are guilty of focusing on others too much. We can be guilty of focusing more on other people's shortcomings, needs, feelings, choices, etc.

I am guilty of all of the above, and I am even guilty of forgetting to show myself compassion, kindness and grace. So, yesterday was my turn.  Don't the flight attendants always tell you, in case of a "situation" make sure you put your own oxygen mask on first before helping others?  Well, I think that we can fairly say that we have had a "situation" and I just needed to breath yesterday.

I took myself out to lunch at a restaurant that I haven't been to since I lived outside of Philly. I ordered my favorite thing without looking that the price. (Tom, I forgot to tell you that... Surprise.)

Then I went to a beautiful spa where I finally redeemed the gift card I got for Mother's Day. I got a massage and a mini-manicure and I drank water with a strawberry floating in it. They put me in this puffy, oversized robe...



...and gave me a magazine that made me realize how ridiculous the current fashion is.
 I took these appalling pictures to prove it.









If this is how everyone starts dressing and cutting their hair, I am seriously not going out anymore.  Except the first one, that one's kinda cute.  Anyways... Day 25 was a much needed time to relax (and cry) while some lady rubbed my back.  

Day 26, focus is back to others. I attached a note and a $5 Starbucks gift card to a helium balloon in hopes that it reaches a stranger who needs cheering. As it turns out, one gift card is just heavy enough to perfectly weigh down a balloon.  It is rarely a good idea to get my husband involved in a project like this.  He insisted I get ten helium balloons, and reinforce the hole where I tied the strings, and that maybe we should strategically release the balloons in an open field with the least obstacles and lowest chances of landing in a body of water.  He also wanted to follow the balloons in our van for as long as we could.  I think he was living out he fantasy of being a storm chaser.  I just wanted to let the stinkin' thing go in the parking lot.  Regardless of our strategizing, it is way more likely that it will become entangled in one of the thousands of tree limbs or power lines that it will pass than actually deflate at just the right time to float down into the hands of a coffee lover... that being said, Day 26 is actually a Random Act of Environmental Negligence. Still, I thought it worth the risk.

After all the pain and heartache of the failed adoption placement, I think it was good to symbolically let go of something hoping that it finds it's way into the hands of another.







10,000 Prayers and He's Mine Forever

This month, my blog has had about 10,000 hits. I can only think of about 40 people that I know, so this is kind of a big deal. Many of you started following my 31 Days of Kindness - an effort I began as a personal journey in honoring my brother and glorifying God by loving others in the process.

The journey, for me, quickly made me realize that what I was really doing was mourning the loss of my brother, as an adult, for the first time. I don't think you can fully mourn a loss when you are in middle school. I don't know if I could even tie a double knot in middle school. (Late bloomer and all.) So, I am certain that I was not even close to being capable of grasping the intensity and the gravity of what my family would face in this lifetime. I did not realize how much grieving I had left to do. This journey has really helped me do this, as an adult, and that has been a real gift.

Another unexpected twist was this hope of our family finally being complete with or last child. This happened to take place right in the height of my blogging career, when I had the most followers I have ever had. I keep think about how I wanted to give this baby the gift of my home, and when that was no longer needed, I wanted to give the gift of some items that would provide a little something for his first weeks here on Earth. When that didn't work... it all just feels really pointless.

Then I realized that by sharing this journey, openly, with so many people... This baby boy was covered in more prayer in these few days than most children are in their whole lifetime. Perhaps, THAT is the sole gift I was meant to give this child.

Isn't a mother's love sacrificial, unconditional, and free of any requirements on the child's end? I think I can release this little boy if I can stop thinking of him as the baby that should have been mine, or was almost mine... Instead, I am just deciding that he is mine, and he is yours and he belongs to 10,000 others who have made him the child of their hearts.

He belongs to us, guys, and we get to keep loving him sacrificially by praying over his sweet little baby self for as long as we like... Maybe even forever.

I guess that makes him my forever baby after all. What healing this brings to my soul.

@laracapuano