Day 20 & 21 - Scared, Imperfect, Vulnerable = Connected.

During the month of October, this strange and beautiful phenomenon occurs. For 31 vulnerable and exhausting days, I open up my heart to all of you. My imperfect, ragged heart is splayed vulnerably before you, and when it is, something quite magical happens.

You open up your hearts right back.

Every time I muster the courage to be speak frankly about deep and personal wounds from my past, my inbox is flooded with stories of your deep and personal wounds. When I release the fear of judgement (however temporarily that may be) and force myself to speak candidly about my insecurities, you speak candidly with me about your insecurities.

When I confess, some of you confess. When I express shame, many of you express shame. When I push past the criticism and the nay-sayers and I choose to behave bravely even when I feel small and weak and exposed… so many of you are there, also being brave, and maybe also feeling small, weak, and a bit exposed.

This is the power of vulnerability, that when I share my tattered and timeworn stories of loss, you respond with your own. Vulnerability creates room for other people to be themselves, to express themselves, to breathe, to be real, to be universal, to exist next to someone else who understands. Vulnerability tells us that none of us, not even one, is really ever alone. We cannot possibly be alone when at the end of the day, we are all the flippin’ same.

For Day 20, Jay and I made a small donation to a hospice home near us called Sunset House. Our neighborhood block party was on Saturday and as a group we continue to raise money for this worthwhile cause. I also made a donation (and by donation I mean I bought myself a candy bar) for my little neighbor’s fundraiser to go to Washington, D.C. It was a huge sacrifice, but I live to serve, so.

Day 21, I made a donation to Foodlink while checking out at the grocery store, and more importantly, I tried to express appreciation and admiration today whenever I felt it. I sincerely thanked my volunteers for all they did at church today, I brought cake (and lots of jokes and banter) to the staff at the movie theater where we rent space to have our church services and I went all the way out to my car because a little girl wanted a something I had already packed up. These were all simple, small things that I would do any day of any month all year long. Still, I think that we underestimate the cumulative impact of simple acts decency.

Extending grace and decency to others in a world that can easily feel hyper-combative and cruel, is another way to remind people that we are all the same. We are all small. We are all weak, frightened and exposed in one way or another. But, we are also all these glorious creatures who are profoundly loved by the one who created us. We are capable, tenacious and brave. I know this because you are all my precious darlings, and when I tell you my deep dark secrets, you tell me yours. You hold me with your words, you comfort me with your encouragement, you honor and humble me with your mirrored vulnerability. And when you share your own scary truths, whispered back to me, however hesitantly, but still so so beautifully... it is a revolutionary act of love.

Days 17 - 19: Catching Up on Kindness!

Well, I am maaaaaad behind on posting and I have been driving all day, so I will keep this brief! I have been toying with the idea of shifting away from blogging and moving toward podcasting and/or video blogging. The jury is out, but I am too haggard to even consider putting my face on camera at the moment. So, let’s consider this a micro-blog for tonight.

I went home to celebrate the life of a family friend, Earl Dean. He was the wonderful father of my friend Heather. As many of you already saw on Facebook Live, I stayed with my mom and interview her about #AdamsActs. She is out of control, so enjoy that little video if you haven’t already checked it out, and here’s a taste of how extra she can be.

I shared that my act of kindness on the trip there was handing out $5 gift cards to Tim Horton’s to the Canadian border patrol. Canadians cannot get enough of Tim Horton’s and their garbage coffee. The American side would not accept my gifts because apparently they cannot get enough of following arbitrary rules that forbid them from enjoying life and kindness.

For Day 18, I wrote out a bunch of cards for Heather and on the envelope I noted specific days that she may open them. When someone passes away - especially someone as involved in 
Heather’s life as her dad was - there will be many moments where she will feel his absence so keenly it can feel unbearable. I tried to anticipate what some of those moments might be, like Father’s Day, or her birthday, or when her dad’s flower garden starts to break through the thawing spring ground. Those will be moments that she needs a reminder that she is loved and thought of, and certainly not alone.

For Day 19, I filled up my mom’s car with gas and I spoke at Fellowship of Christian Athletes for my bro Joe. I was spazzy and unprepared, and I busted in on all my fave coaches/teachers right in the middle of their classes, announcements and observations. Sorry, not sorry! They’ve met me, so they weren’t terribly surprised especially considering I have the exact same maturity level as I did when I was playing volleyball (poorly) in high school.

Me and Tracey Wilson - principal, former coach, friend and #AdamsActs extraordinaire! I was lucky enough to be there when a couple of kids were receiving gift cards for getting caught being kind to others at school! It was such an honor to meet these kind kids and peer pressure them into reading my blog.

After spazzing myself around the high school like a total crazy, my niece treated me to breakfast, which was very sweet seeing that she is a broke college kid. I tried to encourage and affirm her life choices - which are wise and brave - so it was easily done.

After that, I went to the cemetery and left a penny on Adam’s headstone, because it’s a thing some of us do. There is always a penny there. I spent some time sitting in the grass, thinking of Adam and wishing I could talk to him. When I tried, all that came out was “hey buddy.” and then so many projectile tears. I wanted him there, in real life, to talk to me and to be on my team. I need his advice right now, and I need to feel like he understands me and hears me. I want him to be here, standing beside me and holding my hand when I feel scared to make big changes in my life.

I sat by his headstone and thought about the three words that my parents chose to be engraved there forever.

I was particularly focused on peacemaker. I love that it doesn’t say peacekeeper, but peaceMAKER. It is a lot easier to be a keeper of peace - especially false peace - than it is to be brave enough to be honest and work toward creating TRUE peace. To be a peacemaker, you have to identify problems, you have to speak hard truths, and you have to be willing to create something new. This is who I am striving to be. Not a keeper of an illusion of peace, but a maker of true, authentic peace.

I suppose that even though my big brother is not here to hold my hand and give me advice, he is still teaching me and today it felt like he was on my team.

Day 14 & 15: Walk of Shame

We are halfway through October and I have yet to do anything noteworthy or epic. Rather, I am continually extending small, intentional acts of kindness. Sometimes I beat myself up about doing only little things, but I won’t do that this time. I’ve had enough beating myself up for a while. I have often written about grief triggers, and how the smallest thing can bring a tidal wave of grief and memories flooding back. And so it is with kindness. When I started doing #AdamsActs several years ago, it was just me and a handful of friends. Now, over 10,000 readers later, there is a tidal wave of kindness flooding communities all over the world. Perhaps there is no such thing as a small act of kindness, if it reflects a big, generous heart.

For Day 14, I treated some of my faves to go see a movie. They more than deserved for it to be my treat, since I moped around like Eeyore the whole night without explanation. We saw A Star is Born - which absolutely wrecked me… speaking of triggers. Addiction, shame, suicide, Lady Gaga gettin’ nakey buns. It was a lot. But, also, really well done and left me with lots of feelings to grapple with. Mostly, shame. Which I have wrestled with to varying degrees for as long as I can remember.

Which brings me to Day 15. I always try to keep items in my car for when I see homeless people. My go-to are boxes of Nutri-grain bars because they are soft. (Harder foods like apples or carrots are difficult to chew if you don’t have access to dental care/all your teeth.) Today, when I saw a homeless woman I planned to hand the cereal bars out the window like I normally do, but today felt different.

Today, I recognized my own lifelong battle with shame reflected back at me through this woman’s face. So, instead of driving by and handing her supplies, I threw my car into park right on 104 and I got out and went to her. I gave her some snacks, but more importantly I looked her directly in her face and told her that she was loved and that she was okay. And then I hugged her like a mama. I held on tight and for a long time. Too long some might say. But, we both had tears in our eyes when we let go. She did not thank me for the food. She did however yell after me just as I was getting in the car,

“Lady! Thank you for the hug.”

The Language of Grief

As a mom, I have this really terrible habit of not correcting my kids when they adorably mispronounce words. If they think that sloppy joe’s are called sloppy jokes, why on earth would I correct that? If they happen to reason that multiple items of clothing are called clothes, so a single item of clothing is called “clo” then who am I to question their logic? I absolutely love when they get it wrong. Jay just learned at school about how dangerous and unhealthy it is to “smoke ciggaracists.” He is combining cigarettes and racism… two of the heavy hitters on the forbidden list in our home.

I could not correct him. Because I love it. I love when they take a guess, and stick to it, even when they are way off. So, I happily absorb their mispronounced words into my everyday vocabulary. Underwear will forever be bundies in my eyes, grown ups will always be grownies, and lasagna will be allabazoonya until the day I die. It’s just how it goes.

I think grief is similar. As a kid, grieving the loss of my brother and my parents divorce within the same year, I developed my own sort of language in a way. I told myself certain things to make sense of my family falling apart. I created ideas, however misconceived, to explain what was happening around me. These ideas, like mispronounced words, became absorbed into my language so to speak, and I find myself, even now, discovering how these words and notions have shaped me.

Some of this language is really unhealthy. For instance, I spent the majority of my life thinking that it should have been me who died that night. I was convinced of this because I admired Adam so much that I believed he would have lived a far more remarkable life than I ever could. Every B on my report card was a reminder of Adam’s straight A’s, every day after my 18th birthday felt like an affront to his memory, another day I didn’t deserve because I outlived someone who would have excelled in ways that I never would. I blamed myself for his death for a very long time. I realize how ludicrous this is now, as an adult, but as a young girl I believed that if I had only been better behaved maybe God wouldn’t have taken my family apart. I grappled with regret - the one time I told Adam that I hated him, the time I went skiing with friends instead of staying home and celebrating Adam’s very last birthday ever, and simply not telling him that he was my hero. The weight of shame for not being better, the weight of regret for not doing more, became the language of grief that I spoke to myself day after day for so many years.

But, there is another, more beautiful, side to this grief language. The side that isn’t filled with mispronounced words or complex regrets… the other dialect to this grief language is compassion. A true empath, I feel everything around me. Speaking the language of grief from such a young age has allowed me to stand in as a translator when other people couldn’t find the words to express their loss. Speaking the language of grief has allowed me to hear and understand others’ pain, sometimes before they understand it themselves. Speaking this language of mangled hearts and torn up dreams has allowed me to sit with others and simply understand.

I have had the privilege of walking beside many people in their most heart-wrenching times. For Day 12, I gave a donation to a foundation that is near to my heart because I was allowed into someone else’s grief journey. Our friend’s Pat and Megan had two beautiful twin girls who had TTTS (Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome) which is a rare condition that can occur when identical twins share a placenta. Their little girls, Zoey and Morgan were born very prematurely and fought so hard for their precious little lives. After only three months on earth, sweet Zoey passed away, leaving behind her precious twin sister and two incredible parents who would continue to remember and celebrate and honor her short life in so many beautiful ways. I also promised Pat (on Day 13) that I would not book any speaking events on the first weekend of December (which is generally a very busy time of year for me with speaking.) I solemnly swore that I would instead be at their Christmas Tree fundraiser they do each year in memory of Zoey.

If you live in the Rochester area, you should really consider getting your Christmas tree from them. The trees are beautiful, and the proceeds go to help other kids who are fighting for their lives. Plus, they make it super fun and festive for kids. Plus, there’s hot chocolate. And snacks. And other food. Just come, okay?

In addition to making promises, for Day 13 I spent time just thinking of, praying for and reaching out to a few people who are going through their own times of grief. Today was a day of loss and heartache for three different families I love. We are supporting them in whatever ways we are able, but even after speaking this grief language for most of my life, I still find that I have no adequate words when someone I love is in pain. So, instead, I will just sit in the hurt with them, and let them know that they are not alone. Sometimes grief is a complex language that screams mispronunciations in your head, and sometimes it’s compassion that simply demands silence.

Days 10 & 11: Sprinkles.Tom

Fam, can I just give it to ya straight today? I am maaaaaad tired. I have officially lost more than 10% of my body weight in less than two weeks. I feel so ridiculously exhausted, so I am going to keep tonight super brief. For Day 10 I brought a bowl of apples to work. I recently started a new job working for my church and I love all my colleagues with an everlasting love. So, I brought a bowl of produce. Then someone else brought in apples and oranges and brownies. #overachiever

For day 11, I wanted to win the snack show-down, so I bought cupcakes for my daughter Marlie and her teammates to enjoy after their tennis match. I played a lot of sports growing up. I was okay at sports, but I was almost never in the spotlight during a game. But, you know when I shined? Afterwards, when we all got a snack. Alright, I don’t know if I shined necessarily, but... I did get a snack. And that was a win. In terms of snacks, I was an undefeated athlete.

Today, everyone was a winner. Except Tom, because I gave his cupcake away to some random kid I didn’t know. Happy #AdamsActs everyone!

*My 15 year old daughter, Annalee titled this post for me as her act of kindness. “Sprinkles dot Tom” was her best idea. Pray for her.

Day 9: No I Won't Shut Up About Kindness

When my brother’s life was taken away from him on that crisp fall night, I was in the 6th grade. I still remember my mom, my oldest sister, Kristin, and her fiance, Joe, coming home from the hospital to tell us that Adam was gone. “We lost him.” That is how my mother told us.

“We lost him.”

I remember my mom motioning for Joe to hide Adam’s wrestling gear that was piled on the floor…. As if that would be the thing to put us over the edge. His wrestling uniform was there on the floor because that year, I decided to dress up as my brother for Halloween. Afterall, he was my real, live superhero. I wore his wrestling singlet, his warm-ups, shoes and had his headgear hanging from the waist of the warm-ups… just like the real wrestlers. I remember that moment so vividly. My mom, in the deepest grief of her life, still trying to protect us. Trying to eliminate any factor that might make our pain more acute. That was probably the first act of kindness that was done in response to Adam’s death.

After Adam died, my friendships changed a lot. I had a really hard time opening up and talking to my friends about everything I was feeling. I find this amusing and ironic now, considering the fact that this week alone I have opened up to about 10,000 people about my feelings. But, it was harder then. My friends were children. They did not know how to comfort me. They didn’t understand grief. Only last year did I learn from one friend how Adam’s death impacted the rest of her childhood. She was traumatized. Her family was very close with ours, and they were all traumatized. Adam’s death changed how people parented their kids, it changed how late their kids could stay out, and whether or not they could go places. His death shaped our community, in ways I did not realize at the time.

Even though so many peripheral people were impacted, I still felt alone in my grief. I felt small and lost and alone. We lost him, my mother had said, but I think what really happened was that we all got lost. But there were moments of connection. When my friend Sarah Doane sat and played Mall Madness with me for hours while my mom wept with my aunts and uncles. She let me shut it all out and pretend to still be a kid. That was an act of kindness. Sarah’s mom, Michal, let us sleep over at each other’s houses on school nights sometimes when I was really sad. That wasn’t something she would normally allow, but making an exception was an act of kindness.

At the funeral home, one of Adam’s classmates, Tom Streng, sat next to me for so long watching old videos of Adam. The video just kept looping and looping. He sat with me the whole time, as an act of kindness.

That same night, I remember someone coming over to me and saying that a bouquet of flowers had been delivered for me. ME. I was in 6th grade. I had never been given a flower before, let alone had a bouquet delivered especially for me. Sure enough, there was a simple vase filled with yellow roses. They were from a boy in my class, Bobby Packer, who had confessed his undying love to me on the regular for about 3 years straight leading up to this. I still remember my mom telling me that red roses mean love, but yellow roses mean friendship. On one of the hardest days of my life, Bobby extended what I needed most - a sign of friendship, and act of kindness.

This is why we do acts of kindness in October. Because small, generous, thoughtful acts of care and concern are healing, buoying and uplifting. They are meaningful, they are memorable. They help tether lost people to the hope of being found again. From the moment that Adam died, the people around me have been performing small, but meaningful acts of kindness and that has made some very tragic times just a bit more survivable. God has placed people in my life to love me and support me and to walk through this process with me long before they were adults, long before they knew how to support someone in their grief.

In his kindness, God has sweetly and gently brought me through the darkest times in my life, and he has done so by bringing me friends and strangers who weren’t afraid to be there, even when it was uncomfortable. Friends like Chrisann Hanson, who called me La and wrote AP17 on her shoes with me. Friends, coaches, teachers, neighbors… people who stepped outside of themselves and extended kindness to our family when we were just re-learning how to put one foot in front of the other.

So. That’s why. For every person who has asked why we are all out there blabbing about what kindnesses we do. This is why. Because kindness can make a real, lasting impact on people’s lives. And I think that is worth sharing and celebrating.

My beautiful friend, Sue Delgatti, has continually showered my family with kindness over the past few years. She has been one of the most active participants in October and Sue is no stranger to loss and heartache. She has overcome a world of challenges… and here’s what she sent me today, completely unsolicited:

I love participating in this movement because I believe in kindness! I believe it can make a difference. I believe it helps me be a better person. I believe that God wants us to use great sadness and brokenness for good and I believe it helps us heal. Participating brings me this odd sense of joy and takes my eyes off me. I’m encouraging you all to try it because I’m pretty sure you’ll like the way it makes you feel. Kindness IS contagious and I think you will be surprised at how it becomes part of your life and the joy that it brings. So.... jump on into #AdamsActs and #catchthekindness! Make someone smile, be an encourager!!! As is often said- “be the change you want to see in world”

Sue basically sent me a commercial for #AdamsActs. Just a little plug out of the blue in case someone needed it. This is kindness people. When you are so in tune with the needs of the people around you that you meet those needs before they even realize they had the need. Because what Sue doesn’t know, is that today I was fielding a little bit of criticism about publicizing kindness. This happens every year, but more and more as the blog gets bigger. Tomorrow I will address some of this - and probably the state of the nation as a whole - but mama needed to cool off first. What I needed was a reminder that what we are doing matters, that it pleases God because we are loving his children. In the same way that so many of you loved on that lost little child after her brother was taken away so suddenly. Kindness gives birth to more kindness. That is as noble a goal to pursue as any, and definitely one worth sharing.

Day 8: Chemo Care Drive

I can’t believe that we are officially starting week 2 of #AdamsActs!! It’s been a strange month for me so far, to say the least. I am still feeling quite dizzy and out of it, and I am down about ten pounds. Despite having been called a fat cow multiple times in the hospital, I actually don’t have a lot of extra weight to spare at the moment… so ten pounds is a bit rough. I am still not cleared to drive, so I thought now would be a good time to kick off my plan for the rest of October.

In the past couple of years, I have collected items for various causes. One year I collected snack items for gift baskets which were then given to an organization called David’s Refuge. DR provides respite for parents and caregivers of children with special needs, long-term medical or terminal illness. The following year we did a blanket drive for homeless shelters. This year, I will be collecting items for people who are going through chemotherapy.

I will keep a bin on my front step where you can drop items off at your convenience (if you live in the Rochester area.) For those readers who live elsewhere, you can send me a private message for my address if you would like to mail items to be part of our drive. As in past years, anyone who is not a pervert is welcome to participate. I mean, I can’t just have pervs comin’ and going’ from the house willy nilly.

Here are some items that I would recommend:

• Comfortable socks/slippers

• Beanie, hat, head wrap or scarf made of soft fabric

• Wrap, soft blanket or shawl

• Travel pillow

• Snacks

• Travel size toiletries (toothpaste, mouthwash, hand sanitizer, lotion for sensitive skin, etc.)

• Moisturizer (anything with calendula)

• Gum, mints and crystallized ginger (to combat nausea)

• Magazines, crossword puzzles, books

• Journal

• Paper organizer (to keep records and prescriptions in order)

• Reusable water bottles

• Chapstick

• Peppermint or ginger tea

• Headphones

• Sleep mask

• Earplugs

• Nail polish (nobody going through chemo recommended this, but I don’t think anyone should ever go through hard things without an excellent base, color and top coat. If you need brand suggestions, I will happily oblige.)

• Gift cards (I-Tunes, gas cards, grocery stores, restaurants and activities near hospital.) Even if these aren’t used right away, it gives the patient something fun to look forward to when they are feeling up to it!

• Blank stationary or note cards

• Subscriptions - Netflix, Amazon Prime, Audible, Hulu, etc. can help pass time.

Housecleaning and meal delivery services are also amazing gifts, but I am not about to be organizing stuff. I will just collect and distribute, because I know my limits. Still, I think a collection of these small, but essential items can go a long way to encourage people and alleviate some of the financial strain of battling cancer. None of these “extras” are covered by insurance, even though many of these items, like nail polish, are necessary for survival.

Quick instructions if you come to my house - you should know a few quick things.

• There could be upwards of 100 children from the neighborhood scattered about the yard at any given time. They will almost definitely be wearing bicycle helmets, backwards and for no apparent reason. Whether they are actually riding their bicycles or not - the helmets will be incorrectly, unsafely and precariously dangling from their heads. 100% of the time. (Below are photos of my actual children. Please pray for their future.)

• We have a small and poorly trained puppy who is super chill and lovely, until someone brings lotions to our house for cancer patients. Then she becomes an “excitable greeter.” Just, push through it. She is harmless and adorable. I am better at training people than pets apparently.

Happy Day #8 everyone. I hope to hear from many of you about partnering together to encourage men, women and children who have a long, hard fight in front of them.

Day 6: Fat Cows, Camels and Compliments

On Wednesday night I was at church volunteering to watch some kids when I started feeling unwell. More accurately, I started feeling worse. I have not been feeling great for over a year now, and the past couple of weeks have been particularly rough. By Wednesday, I was feeling weak and dizzy. As Jonathan mentioned in the public flogging over my poor hydration habits, I assumed that I might just be dehydrated. I began feeling a little faint, so I sat down until I felt okay to drive home. I only live five minutes from church, but still, I had my three youngest kiddos with me so I didn’t want to risk anything.

I drove home from church, went in the front door and that’s really all I remember. At some point I passed out near my front door and the kids found me there on the floor a short while after. I do not know how long I was out for. The kids were incredible and able to figure out how to use Siri to get help. I was pretty proud. I woke up to London, my 8-year-old , saying “I’m going to get Scout (our puppy), it’s the only thing that will work!” It was so sad. And also adorable. Because to a little girl, there is no problem that an adorable puppy cannot solve.

I decided to go into the Emergency Room just to be safe. Long story short, I was admitted to the observation unit - lots and lots of tests were run, heart rates and blood sugar were erratic, weight has been lost, heads have been aching and the short answer is… we don’t know. There are still some test results we are waiting on, but for the most part they have ruled out anything too sinister. It sounds like they are leaning toward this being some sort of malabsorption issue from something like Celiac or Crohn’s.  A compromised ability to absorb nutrients would definitely explain why my legs are the size and shape of golf tees. So, this seems reasonable to me. Still, more tests are required to confirm.

In the meantime, I was sent home from the hospital yesterday afternoon with a heart monitor to definitively rule out cardiac issues. I am not allowed to work or drive until I am cleared by a doctor. They did say I can still do laundry, so… awesome.

I have been really overwhelmed by those of you who have reached out for updates and well-wishes. I appreciate it so much. I don’t think I have ever spent so much time on my phone before, so we can add carpal tunnel to my list of possible diagnoses. In all seriousness though I was amazed to sit back and watch #AdamsActs just explode before my eyes, knowing that it literally had nothing to do with me. You guys, are amazing.

I have been trying very hard not to get down on myself or feel like I’ve let ya down. Seeing everything you guys are doing to spread kindness, positivity and love has been such an encouragement to me that it has helped keep me in good spirits. I thought about doubling up acts of kindness to catch up, but I am releasing myself from that because I am wearing a heart monitor as we speak and I don’t need that kinda pressure.

For Day 6, I will tell you the highlight reel of my stay in the hospital. I had planned to extend kindness during my stay… but oh boysies. Here’s how it went down. I was put in a “room” with a curtain separating me from an older, unstable gentleman who burned his feet up from walking too much. It was actually quite sad, but also he kept swearing at me and accusing me of stealing his sunglasses, so I feel like it’s ok for me to get a good story out of the abuse, if nothing else.

I knew it was going to be a long night when he got started on the Communists and the Russians. I have to admit, I didn’t see all the smoking coming though. Yep. That’s right. This man perpetually yelled “Nurse! Nurse! I gotta go number two!” As it turns out, “Number Two” is very much code for “Smoking in the Hospital Bathroom.” Every time he came back in the room the nurse would yell at him and apologize to me… and eventually I got my very own bottle of air freshener!

Once the nurses put a stop to Operation Numero Dos, he very boldly lit those Camel Straights right there in the room. The security guards were not thrilled. They wrestled the cigs away from this guy, and I was definitely to blame… seeing as I was “the fat cow who stole his best sunglasses.”

Not only was I a fat cow, I was a number of other filthy names that have become memories I’d prefer to treasure privately. My favorite name, however I will share with you. Every time he demanded that I - a patient hooked up to an IV and all the monitors - get up and get him some Tylenol he would call me Hunny Bunny. When I told him that I was unable to provide any medicine at this time, he would scream at me and call me Nurse Ratchet. I have a bit of video of this as evidence that I am not being dramatic, but I cannot include it because, ya know HIPPA or whatever.

So, that was night number one in the hospital. Super restful. No wonder my heart rate was going bananas! What were its options!? The second night was not much better because the observation unit just means that all of us fat cows are appropriately placed in curtained stalls. We are strategically situated to ensure that every time someone moans or talks about their bile, we can all weigh in.

I promise though, I was doing my absolute best to extend kindness whenever possible. I spent hours patiently talking with Mr.Russia. I told him politely that I preferred “cow” to the other c-word he was throwing around. I listened to him talk about literally every thought he had, as he had it. And I didn’t once lose my temper. Or sleep.

I was also intentional about trying to be as kind a patient as possible. Of course, I always strive to be polite and kind, but when you are bed-ridden and the only opportunity to extend kindness is toward the people taking care of you… ya run short on ideas. It did give me the chance to live out one of my life mottos which is to never just think a compliment, say it instead.

So, that is what I did. I liked this nurse’s glasses, and I appreciated that nurse’s sense of humor. I found something attractive or admirable or pleasant about every single person I came in contact with. Let me tell you, it helped. For them, I think it is encouraging to be appreciated or recognized in any small way while working in such a hectic environment. And it helped me. I felt uplifted every time I was able to make someone else feel good.

I think my brother would have liked Russia. He would have sat with him a while, got to know him. He would have had a good laugh at his shenanigans, and he would have had compassion. So, while the past few days probably won’t make it onto my top ten list of best ever weeks… I appreciated the opportunity to live out some deeply held values: to listen to lonely people, to see and appreciate people, to be generous with encouragement, to love the people that the world says are “unlovable” and to laugh at inappropriate things.

Day 5: Conversations instead of casseroles.

Hi #adamsacts Fam— Brandi Ebersole here, a good friend of Lara. I have the honor of people saying “we’re a lot alike”. Usually when we hang out together our passive husbands, roll their eyes as we get overly passionate or obnoxiously loud together.

We’ll it’s my turn to be up to bat …guest posting. Not paling in comparison.

Here to let you know, she’s still in the hospital

— WAITING.

And this is where you too, can step in. We all need to be going HARD on our acts of kindness in her absence and PRAYING. Because in my eyes, this is just evil against good… but we’ll leave that kind of writing to George Lucas

#maytheforcebewithlara  

Anyway the funny thing about Lara is she is actually outrageously kind-- EVERYDAY. It’s not just this month. I can visit her from out of town and there is always a neighbor or a church friend stopping in to return a clean casserole dish or something borrowed from her. I know many of you know, this Lara. The one who will pick-up your call even if she’s wrangling her kids in her van. Stopping to give you all the advice and her whole heart. Asking you, the hard questions and always tells you the truth.
     My first vivid memory of Lara was many years ago. We were at her in-law’s house. She was telling me a bit about her brother, Adam and family history. A lot of chaos was going on. But after being kind and vulnerable about her own experience, she asked me a raw question…  Do you ever want to meet your birth-family? (adult adoptee here). I was shocked, but felt safe and answered “Yes”.

This small question has changed the trajectory of a lot in my life.

 See that’s Lara and that’s kindness. Sharing your own story, giving-room for others to share theirs. I have had the honor of knowing and gleaming from Lara’s kindness for over 10 years now. She’s been with me when I got married, adopted my first kid, found-out I was birthing another kid and most important has NOT let me shy away from my experience or has not stopped pointing me to the good-Lord for the answers.

      So my challenge to you today--

How can you be vulnerable with someone else, so they too can feel SEEN and KNOWN?

Maybe it’s not the casserole, but the conversation.

Substitute Teacher

You know when you walked into Science class in 8th grade and knew right away there was a substitute teacher? No one was sitting in their seats, your friends were eating their lunch pudding packs at 9:30am. No rules… Well, If you’re reading this and already getting the sense that this isn’t your favorite blogger on earth writing to you, it’s because I (Lara’s brother-in-law) have been asked to sub in for the moment.

About an hour ago, Lara found herself waking up on her living room floor with their three youngest kids hovering over her… “Mommy you passed out”. Well, it was a little more insane than that. Jaylen, their youngest, was screaming and is officially scarred for life at the thought of Mommy falling to the floor. Harper grabbed Lara’s phone to call Daddy, and didn’t know the passcode to unlock it. Thankfully he had enough wit to mutter out “Hey Siri… Call ‘Tom My Lover.’” Of course, that’s how every husband is and should be saved in the phone. But everyone can breathe. I just got off the phone with Lara. Her and Tom are at the hospital waiting for results on a few tests, but she sounded ok.

Don’t worry, I’ve already shamed her for not drinking enough water ever in her life; as I believe if they did a full body/organ scan they’d come to find all of her organs are shriveled to raisin size. That’s enough shaming my sister-in-law in the hospital. This is a time and month for good deeds. We can all pray for Lara as she’s hopefully hearing very soon of what may be going on.

As the sub for today, I do have one assignment for class today… on behalf of #AdamsActs, give even greater than yesterday! I think that’d make Lara’s day.

Until next time she passes out…

Jonathan

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.

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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 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

#AdoptionIsLove & All the Other Things

“Did my birthmom give me up because my head is shaped like an oval?”

My son Harper was only six years old when he asked me that. I was shocked for so many reasons. First of all, because his head is perfect. Second, and more importantly, he was using language we hadn’t ever used. We never once said that she “gave him up.” We always said that she “placed him in our family” or that she was “not able to parent him.” Our careful word choice was not enough to change how he felt and how he felt was rejected, declined, discarded…

given up.

Four years ago on this day, we finalized Jay’s adoption. It took 19 long months of tedious paperwork, home visits from our case worker and jumping through legal hoops before this day became a reality. When I look back at the photos from that day in court, there is so much beauty and joy captured there.

I remember the peace the kids felt when they knew that Jay’s place in our family was sealed and solidified. That his sonship was sure. There was a palpable sense of reassurance knowing that this little boy was ours forever. As our friends and family gathered with us in that courtroom, our hearts took a collective sigh of relief. We have an open adoption, and a great relationship with Jay’s first mama, so it was not as if there was some crazy custody battle. Quite to the contrary, The Lovely Miss N. - as we affectionately call her in the blog - was walking through this part of our journey with us. She too rejoiced when the adoption was finalized, because she also wanted Jay’s place in our home and family to be permanent and sure.

The fact that nobody was contesting either of our boys’ adoptions technically made things “easier” for us. Yet, as I continue to listen to and learn from the powerful voices of adult adoptees in my life and community, I can’t help but anticipate the dismay that my sons will likely experience as a result of knowing that nobody contested their adoptions. Nobody tried to stop it. Nobody fought us for them. The set of circumstances that created relatively obstacle-free finalizations are the same dismal circumstances that will cause our boys to process feelings of rejection and abandonment for the rest of their lives. Whether they were “lovingly placed” or “given up” almost doesn’t matter if their little souls question their worth and their place in the world.

I happen to know for sure, with 100% certainty that my sons were (are) both fiercely loved by their first moms. Because we have the luxury of an open-adoption with Jay’s birthparents, we have it on pretty good authority to say that they are absolutely wild about him. Due to situations that are not mine to disclose, my boys’ first moms made an impossible decision. Their choices were made out of anything but rejection or indifference. Still, we cannot possibly know how a child will interpret the actions or inactions of the adults in their lives.

And while we are entirely committed to facilitating healthy relationships between our boys and their birthfamilies, we know that there will be times of strain and hurt no matter how hard we try to prevent it. We know that there will come a time when they will confront the harsh awareness that they were “free to be adopted.” And knowing that their heartbreak is inevitable, I find these photos and memories equal parts joyful and disconcerting. The more I learn about the adoptee’s experience, the harder it is to celebrate these moments without also acknowledging the layered grief and loss involved in a day like this coming to fruition.

#AdoptionIsLove is a popular hashtag in the adoption community. And it is so true. From every side there is this imperfect, but unending love for a child. Adoption IS love. But a less popular truth is that adoption is also loss. It isn’t as trendy a hashtag and it isn’t as pleasant a view of adoption - but it is just as real, just as true.

Adoption is love. Adoption is loss. Adoption is wondering if there is something inherently wrong with you. It’s looking in the mirror, wondering who you look like, and thinking maybe your head is just too oval to be loved. Adoption is feeling given up, even when you were lovingly placed. As I tucked my boys in to bed tonight, I asked Harper if I could share this story from when he was a little boy with all of you. I said that I think it’s important to tell the truth about the good things and the sad things about adoption so that people can understand all of it a little better.

He gave me his permission. And then he added this,

“You can tell them that I said that when I was a little boy, but it’s okay to tell the things I worry about now. Like... I don’t think it’s because of my head anymore, but I still think it’s because of something. I just don’t know what it is yet. Maybe knowing that I still wonder will help people to understand the sad parts.”

I am thankful, beyond thankful, that I have the joy and responsibility of raising these two little crazies. I am thankful for the days that the states of New York and New Jersey said that they could be ours forever. I am thankful that I know - even when they don’t - that their first mothers would die for them in an instant. I am thankful and overjoyed, to be sure, I just don’t know if all the other feelings we have about adoption will ever quite fit into a hashtag.

What Lies Ahead

I have been home with my kids for nearly fifteen years and I have loved every, single minute of it. I have remained patient and full of the holy spirit for the entirety of the past decade and a half, and I would never - under any circumstances - drive past my house and go around the block multiple times just so I can finish an audiobook in glorious, uninterrupted peace. Also, I have no flaws, so...

Okay, fine. I am a liar. And the past 15 years have been just slightly more nuanced than that. Maybe I do have flaws. Like, if I had to ballpark… I’d say maybe 5-7 flaws come to mind?

Okay, fine. I’m a liar. Again. I barely survived the past 15 years. My flaws are infinite, and they are just scattered haphazardly all over the floor with the other rando debris in my home. But, while it’s true that I have loved being home all these years, I hate when people say they loved “every minute” of something, as if that’s even possible. Clearly it’s a gross exaggeration and if there is one thing I won’t stand for it’s a gross exaggeration.

Okay, look, I am just going to be lying on and off, basically this whole post. The truth is, my favorite kind of exaggerations are the gross ones. Still, I do despise an overly tidy sum-up of something as complex and layered as 15 years of parenting! Or a lifetime of devotion to a particular profession, or 60 years of marriage, or 25 years of serving our country. Any experience that could be compared to Sisyphus pushing that boulder up a hill over and over cannot possibly be enjoyed 100% of the time.

Still, I really have loved being home all these years. And if I could go back and do it all over again, I would make the same decision to be home. I loved being there for every first - first taste of every food, first steps, first words, first time covering their entire room with sidewalk chalk, or oil paints, or human feces. I rarely ever missed a first anything. And that I loved. I have loved being the room parent and chaperoning all the field trips. I loved being able to bring my kids their stuff when they forgot it at home. I also loved not bringing them their stuff sometimes, so that they would learn the lesson of being more prepared. I loved that I had the choice.

But, there were also a lot of things that I hated. I hated when people would say I was lucky that I could afford to stay home - as if we haven’t made huge financial sacrifices by living below the poverty line for a hundred years. I hated not showering for more days in a row than I care to admit, because I WAS NEVER ALONE. I hated having no sick days, and I hated the moments that I wish I could do over. I have a lot of moments that I regret. Moments of selfishness, impatience, and straight up ugliness. I regret not savoring each day that I had my babies home. I regret the times when I wished away the hard days and longed for this season to come - the season when all my kids would be in school full-time.

Now that time is nearly upon me. On September the sixth, in the year Two Thousand and Eighteen, I will be alone for the first time in 15 years. People ask me what I will do with myself. Here is what I plan to do with myself, in alphabetical order:

• Be alone.

• Blog more frequently.

• Complete tasks. Observe/record what it is like when the task is not immediately UNdone by another, smaller person.

• Eat pieces of candy without risk of what I call “the seagull effect.”

• Finish writing my book.

• Go to a doctor for adults.

• Have conversations with adults.

• Hire new booking agent.

• Increase the number of speaking engagements from what I was previously able to do.

• Maintain flexibility in schedule so I can still be room parent/chaperone all the things.

• Paint fingernails.

• Shower daily, during regular daylight hours.

• Submit book proposal to publishing company.

• Work during daylight hours.

• Work without noise-cancelling headphones.

This might seem too ambitious, or maybe not ambitious enough. I honestly have no way of gauging what is realistic to accomplish during a school day. I had my first child in college, like a sinner, so I have no idea what it will be like to have five school-aged children and a whole day to accomplish things.

Here’s what I do know. I am at peace with it all. Not because I loved every single second of how it was, or because I have no regrets or because I was so awesome at being a stay-at-home mom 100% of the time. I am at peace with it because it’s what is happening. It will be like everything else… some of it will go too fast, and some of it will feel like it’s dragging on. Parts of this coming season will be easier, and I will probably be dismayed to discover that some parts will be harder. Some days will feel free, and some will be a grind. It’s going to be whatever it’s going to be, and I am at peace with all the unknowns and the certain bittersweetness of it all. While I am embracing the change, I am also operating under the total assumption that there will be a minimum of 84 mental breakdowns during that first week of school.

Until that day (where I can be found at home in a ball, eating candy, with a youtube video of seagulls attacking a sandwich playing in the background) I am preparing my heart for whatever God puts in front of me this year. In anticipation of what’s to come, I am so excited to announce that the amazing Jonathan Capuano - digital arts/graphic design extraordinaire - has completely revamped my website! While you’re here, please take a look around at how profesh he is making me look! My favorite new feature is that you can now send a request to book a speaking engagement directly through the site or, as always, connect with me through the contact page. I would love to speak at your next event - youth, church, college, women, corporate… I have had the opportunity to keynote so many incredible events in the past couple of years and I have loved every single second of it.

(Still, with the lying. smh)

Okay, fine… I maybe haven’t loved EVERY second, but if there is one thing I have learned in the past fifteen years, it’s that you don’t have to love every single second of something to know that you were made to do it. I was made to be a mom. But I was also made to be a fun and compassionate speaker who isn’t afraid to ask the hard questions, or to tell the hard truths or to lie comedically via gross exaggeration. So, I can’t wait for this next season of life, because I get to do all of the things that I love so much - writing, speaking, momming, eating pieces of candy. Even if there are a few seconds here and there that aren’t my favorite, I get to be what God created me to be, and I am still wrapping my mind around what a glorious and wonderful gift that is.

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Lara is now booking events for 2018/19, click HERE to invite her to speak at your next event.