tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72953091101174492622024-03-14T04:08:30.263-05:00Jacob and Carrie :: NowHereA Journal by Carrie McKeanCarriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.comBlogger519125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-8269816987917836122015-05-29T07:20:00.000-05:002015-05-29T07:20:53.995-05:00SomethingThere was a time, not so long ago, when I felt like I needed "something" to do to make me valuable and justify the space I took up on this planet. "Something" has taken various shapes and forms through the years, from on-the-ground orphan care in China to helping families adopt children. At times it was volunteering with refugees and in one season it was trying to maintain a near-perfect college GPA. For the last 6 years or so, it's been founding and running a small social enterprise, <a href="http://www.scarletthreads.org/" target="_blank">Scarlet Threads</a>. It's been different and sometimes random, but there's always been "something." Something that gave me a sense of identity and worth.<br />
<br />
Except one thing.<br />
<br />
Motherhood.<br />
<br />
That was never "something" for me. From the moment I became a mother 4 years ago, I've loved being a mama and watching my girls grow and change. But if I'm honest, I never felt like it was enough to make my existence worthwhile.<br />
<br />
Motherhood wasn't something that gave me a sense of purpose, identity, and value. And I honestly don't know why. My husband has only been encouraging and supportive. He's never asked me "what I do all day." I haven't been told by anyone that caring for my children is a waste of time... the opposite actually. But I spent the better part of these last 4 years trying to make peace with the fact that I'd chosen not to do "something else" and frantically trying to stuff "something else" in the margins of my life as a full-time stay-at-home mama with very little outside help and very small children. If I really look hard at it, I think I developed some skewed perspectives on femininity and feminism that resulted in me striving to be anything but the "traditional wife and stay-at-home mom," even though in my heart I wanted to be fully present for my husband and kids and had the luxury of making that choice. <br />
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But when Alea entered our world, and Motherhood 2.0 began for me, some things seismically shifted. Motherhood-through-adoption is a whole new experience for me... one of survival, really. It is really nothing like mothering the little one I birthed and sheltered and nurtured since the day she was conceived. Adopting a child who spent 17 months experiencing profound loss, abandonment, deprivation, and tragedy changes absolutely everything. And though every adoption is different, for us it shifted the foundations of our family unit. And instead of briskly trucking along with my two little ducks following closely behind me, I found myself in a battle for Alea's heart. And the fight takes every bit of emotional, mental, and spiritual energy I have to give. <br />
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Now that I've been Alea's mama for over a year, we are both in a much better place in every possible way (though we still have so far to go). I went on survival auto-pilot for most of the first year, but in recent months I've had the mental clarity to begin sorting through all my experiences, responses, and emotions of the last year. And I came to realize the intense need I have for margins in my life... those margins that I'd been stuffing full with all these other "good" activities. I wanted to put my To Do list to death and fiercely protect empty space in my life... space I needed to feel like I could breathe and do more than just rush from one thing to the next with my two little ducklings, one of whom was decidedly NOT following closely behind me. This realization led me to one of the scariest decisions of my adult life. <i><b><a href="http://blog.scarletthreads.org/2015/05/seasons-change-whats-new-for-scarlet.html" target="_blank">I sold Scarlet Threads.</a></b></i> It probably doesn't sound like much... after all, it's just a tiny little social enterprise operated out of Cora's closet and our spare bedroom. But it was something that had been giving me an identity and purpose and self-worth for the entirety of my motherhood journey. It was really the last "something" remaining in this season of my life.<br />
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The transition to the new owners has been going on for about a month now and today it is official. (<a href="http://blog.scarletthreads.org/2015/05/seasons-change-whats-new-for-scarlet.html" target="_blank">Check out the Scarlet Threads blog to read a bit about the new owners! My business partner/SIL, Eileen, and I are so thrilled to have found such a lovely family to take over!!</a>) Rather than telling my girls to go play while I worked on the computer for a few minutes yesterday afternoon, I sat on the porch swing in my back yard. I laid down on it and watched the clouds and let Alea gently push me. I listened to them play and closed my eyes and answered questions about ants and butterflies and what floats in water and what doesn't. I didn't think about what time it was and I didn't think about the To Do list. I just enjoyed the moment with my girls. Most importantly, I realized this was something.<br />
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<i>There are definitely some more possible essay topics in here... namely, all the strange places we find our sense of worth and purpose. And perhaps digging a bit deeper into my skewed perspective on motherhood that was underneath all of this. In the coming weeks, I might delve into those a bit more here on the blog. But I may not. I've got two little "somethings" I need to pay attention to. ;) </i>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-52313168133736144452015-04-04T12:16:00.000-05:002015-04-04T12:16:34.153-05:00Ordinary Holiness
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had so many plans for this Holy Week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services with
my church family; an Easter Egg hunt with my biggest little and her preschool
class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a full calendar partially
because my husband is in an incredibly busy (and what I think is insane) season
of work – he leaves every day before dawn and comes home well after the girls
are in bed… 7 days a week for the last two weeks and possibly for the next six.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I can’t think about those weeks stretching
ahead of me too much or I start prepping for a spectacularly big Pity Party.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I had my plans – plans to keep us moving
and busy and passing the time, plans to dig in deep into all the beauty and
ugliness, light and darkness that is Holy Week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">nstead, the week found me holding my biggest girl’s hair back while she
rode waves of nausea and kept reassuring <em>me</em> that she’d “feel better tomorrow.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent the week visiting the doctor daily
as they tried to get strep, an ear infection and bronchitis under control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two shots and lots of anti-nausea medicine
later, and I’m finally starting to see my little girl come back to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And just like that, Holy Week is almost over and I haven’t
showered today and my house is in an upheaval. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure I even cracked the cover of my
Bible this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly didn’t get
to do a single thing I planned, but I did change the sheets on Cora’s bed three
times. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m looking forward to watching
my girls hunt Easter Eggs and celebrating the Resurrection tomorrow, but that’s
the first and last of my Official Easter Plans that look like they might work
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This happened last year – my Easter
plans got thrown out the window because our family was in a time of needing to
huddle close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I can’t help but think
about how there is an Easter lesson in this for me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><span class="woj">“A new
command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one
another.</span> </em><span class="woj"><span style="font-size: small;"><em><sup><span id="en-NIV-26666"> </span></sup>By this everyone will know
that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” </em>(John 13:34)<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Jesus was having his last meal with his
beloved brothers and friends, he washed their feet and served them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told them the secret to life… the secret
to kingdom building and world changing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it wasn’t in swords or strong words or power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was and it is in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that moment, he didn’t let his eyes wander
to the world outside that upper room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
was fully present with the people who God had given him to pour himself into,
and he washed their feet and broke their bread and poured their cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He served them with love and
whole-heartedness, even as his eyes were set on the path to the cross. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he told them the secret to life; the
secret to kingdom building and world changing. The secret is quiet and
subversive and doesn’t often have the appearance of power… the secret is
love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="woj">I’ve often wondered, especially as a child,
how the cries of “Hosanna” could change so quickly to angry shouts of “Crucify
Him.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the older I get, and the more
I find myself in a position of unglamorous service to these little ones God has
given me, I think I understand a bit more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s easy to shout Hosanna when you think your savior is going to ride
into town and turn the world upside down, breaking down unjust political
systems and upending unfair social practices. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will be powerful and prevail!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will be a victim no more!! And when he
takes his position of power, maybe you’ll get your status in life promoted,
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">"Allow us to sit at Your right and at Your left in Your glory.”</i>
(<span class="woj">Mark 10:37) It’s easy for me to shout Hosanna when I see God
giving me opportunities for influence and impact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when he rides into town and whispers
words about love and peace and self-sacrifice and service, it seems to be human
nature to feel at least a little bitterness and resentment rise up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe a lot… maybe enough to change our Hosannas
to Crucify Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The girls’ NaiNai sent them some Easter
books, and I found myself laughing out loud at the first few pages of the book
as we read it yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <a href="http://www.familychristian.com/humphreys-first-palm-sunday.html">Humphrey's First Palm Sunday, by Carol Heyer.</a></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cora kept looking at me like I’d lost my
mind because there was nothing funny about it to a 4-year-old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I kept laughing so hard I cried, because
none of us want to be the camel bringing up the rear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I look at the work of my days and all I
see is piles of laundry and dirty dishes, weeks upon weeks of managing bedtime
by myself and grocery-store trips and meal-planning ad nauseam, I begin to feel
as irritable as Humphrey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I’m capable of more than this, God!”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grumble, like Humphrey, as I pull the load
of clothes from the washer to the dryer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I can be of greater service if I
could just have the chance!”</i> I gripe, as I change yet another dirty
diaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I’m sick of watching other people change the world from the sidelines!”</i>
I complain, as if the only thing in my field of vision is another camel’s
rump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span class="woj"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Managing
a house and raising children and dealing with sickness by myself while my
husband works 90 hours a week... This isn’t what I signed up for!”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bitterness and resentment turns quickly
to anger, and just like that, my Hosanna disappears and I join the ugly chorus
of those shouting Crucify Him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="woj">But His whisper doesn’t change… He breaks
bread and pours out cup and washes the feet of those he loves on the last night
he walks this earth, showing us that service is at the heart of his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He demonstrates peace as he tells his friends
to put away swords and heals the ear of the enemy who has come to kill
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walks out self-sacrifice as he puts
one step in front of the other and carries his cross to the hill on Good
Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And love?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the very cross where he is giving his
life, he asks the Father to forgive the ones who put him there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There
is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>John 15:13)</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so I’m finding that maybe I didn’t miss Holy Week at
all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe these everyday acts of love and
self-sacrifice and service are bringing me closer to the heart of what it means
to be a Jesus follower than any grandiose act could ever do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="woj">Right now my life doesn’t look extraordinary,
but I see his example to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hear him whispering to keep my eyes focused on the children at my feet
in this moment, not letting my eyes wander to the world outside my living room
when they need me here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear him asking me
to be fully present with the people who God has given me to pour myself into,
washing their feet and breaking their bread and pouring their cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Serving them with love and whole-heartedness,
even if it feels like sometimes it requires sacrificing all that I want to
do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="woj"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="woj"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>This is the secret to life; the
secret to kingdom building and world changing. The secret is quiet and
subversive and doesn’t often have the appearance of power… the secret is
love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may look more ordinary than
extraordinary, but </span>in this ordinary holiness I will find Him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">//</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This post is dedicated to my friend Lori, who not only took my girls on a fun date this morning giving me some truly child-free time for the first time in over two weeks, but also fixed them lunch so I could finish writing this. She's a beautiful example of his love and service in action.</span>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-63773797122109179172015-03-24T08:19:00.000-05:002015-03-24T08:19:05.364-05:00It's Been a YearIt’s been a year since this… <br />
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<em>“I want to remember it all. The way I saw her walk in... I knew it was her even without seeing her face, just because she was the size I imagined she would be. The way she clutched my China necklace the moment they handed her to me, winding those little fingers in and out, in and out. No tears. Just quiet glances at my face when I wasnt looking directly at her. The way she sucks her first two fingers when shes overwhelmed. The surprising way it felt to meet her for the first time... a stranger yet not a stranger at all. The way I realized late last night that it already felt like she has been a part of our little family for more than a day... it feels not only like she belongs, but that shes been missing all along.</em>
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<em>The room was chaotic. I think Alea might have been the only child not screaming in terror. And nearly twenty children screaming in one concrete block building with coordinators yelling above the noise creates an indescribable sound of sadness. Alea wasnt crying, but rather a bit shut down. She was taking it all in, but was clearly overwhelmed by everything.”</em>
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<a href="http://blog.scarletthreads.org/2014/03/wonderful-wednesday-finally-all-together.html">(Keep reading about the day Alea joined our family.)</a>
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And I’m so glad it’s been a year. A year later, and I can honestly say I am the one Alea wants when she is scared, tired, or hurt. I’m her mama now… and those roots of belonging to each other are no longer as tender and fragile as they were a year ago or even two months ago. Our bond is growing deeper and stronger day-by-day as we walk this journey of love out together… I’m discovering there’s something perhaps more fierce and powerful and deep in hard-fought love than love that comes easy.
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It’s been a year since this…
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<em>"Visiting Alea's orphanage was hard but good. We've been in lots of orphanages, and as far as orphanages go, hers is a nice one. We've been in many orphanages, but this is the first time I've been in an orphanage that cared for my daughter. And I can't fully explain the way it felt to see her bed. To see her nannies. To see her little friends still waiting. I need more time to let it all sink in. One week ago, this was Alea's daily routine. Sleep in one room. Play in another. Go back to the first room to sleep and eat some more. Repeat tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And today I was in her room with 30 kids and babies who needed their mamas and daddies to come yesterday. Babies who will wait for who knows how long... maybe months maybe forever... for someone to come for them. </em><br />
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<em>Alea's crib was still empty, and my heart soared, but it won't be empty for long. I want to see all the cribs empty. None of them full. I want to see mamas pulling yellow hats over their babies' heads on a cold winter day. I want children to never enter such a place -- where even the most well-intentioned and loving caregivers can not possibly meet all the needs of the babies because there are just. so. many. -- and for those who are there, I want them out. I want to see people step up and say YES to adoption... to all the fears, and terror, and uncertainty. I want more people to recognize that life isn't about being safe and certain, but it is about loving others well. And these little ones have so much worth -- so much intrinsic God-given value. They don't know it yet, because they've never had their mamas and daddies sing it over them; or its been far too long since they heard it. But it doesn't take long for the song to shape their souls and heal their hearts. Not even 3 days after joining our family, we are already seeing joy crinkle the corners of Alea's eyes and hearing her cry out her needs -- two signs she is learning that she is precious to us and to this world."</em>
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<a href="http://blog.scarletthreads.org/2014/03/fantastic-friday-hats-hearts-healing.html">(Keep reading about the day we visited Alea’s orphanage.)</a>
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It’s been a year, and I still haven’t forgotten that room full of cribs. And I still haven’t stopped wishing that more people would “step up and say YES to adoption... to all the fears, and terror, and uncertainty. I want more people to recognize that life isn't about being safe and certain, but it is about loving others well.” This year has been a beating in many ways. I know I haven’t attempted to gloss over the challenges. But this year has also been beautiful! I LOVE THIS LITTLE GIRL! And when I've felt most afraid, most unable to continue -- I’ve grown to understand the sound of the Father’s voice and know the feeling of His heartbeat more deeply in this last year than ever before. Sometimes God calls us into a place that doesn’t feel very safe, and sometimes we see that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nxw3DC_faQA&feature=player_embedded">He isn’t very tame</a>. But He is always so, very good. He has held our family together through this journey, and even knowing how hard it was, I’d do it again. A thousand times over.
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A year later and Alea invites me to imaginary tea parties. She drags the chair to the kitchen counter and unloads my silverware tray at least 3 times a week, and yesterday I caught her with a coffee mug she had taken from one place in the kitchen to another, where she was attempting to get the Keurig to top her off with a fresh cup. She spontaneously recites the names of all the people she loves. She points out every.single.place. she sees Elsa, Anna, and Olaf. (Cora just shakes her head and says “Alea really likes Elsa.”) She loves to play in the sand box and read books, and she gives the very best hugs. Tonight we are taking her for ice cream to celebrate the day we became a family. A lot of “our people” will be joining us. A year later, and Alea isn’t a scared orphan with her whole world turning upside down; she’s a brave and tender spitfire of a girl who is right in the middle of a whole community of people who love her.
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What a year.
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Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-3874456355323402872015-03-09T08:32:00.000-05:002015-03-09T08:32:19.634-05:00To My Daughters on My Birthday<em>I wrote this yesterday... on my birthday and on International Women's Day. I'm posting it a day late, but it was my birthday and I can do what I want to. Or something like that...</em><br />
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A photo posted by Carrie (@carriemckean) on <time datetime="2015-03-09T01:15:35+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Mar 8, 2015 at 6:15pm PDT</time></div>
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Dearest Girls,
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You are the greatest gifts. With your impish grins and your wrinkled up noses. With your squeals and laughter and whirling-twirling love of singing songs barefoot in the living room. With your kisses and cuddles and tiny-arms-wrapped-tight-around-my-neck hugs. You are the greatest gifts I could imagine.
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To be honest, to say I love you seems small… like it can only dance around the edges of what I feel. Have you ever watched a time-elapsed video of a flower blooming? That’s what mothering feels like to me – watching the slow unfurling in warp speed and hardly daring to blink for fear of missing some small piece of the transformation. There was a time (before I was one) when I underestimated motherhood… when I thought it would mostly be tedious and trying and a season to endure rather than celebrate. But now that I’m in the midst of it, and I see your lives taking shape, I can hardly believe what a gift I’ve been given.
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And my favorite thing of all? You’re girls. Beautiful little women-to-be who I see growing in strength and dignity. Little girls who can roar like lions and be as fierce as tigers; who then scoop up their baby dolls and shush them to sleep. Little girls who already love well; whose hearts are full of compassion and tenderness and toughness and bravery. (And I'd be lying if I didn't add a good deal of mischievousness as well.)
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It’s Women’s Day. It’s my birthday. That the two are together has always meant something to me. As a little girl, I remember looking at the calendar as I eagerly counted down the days till my birthday and noticing year after year that the calendar said "International Women's Day" in neat little letters across the bottom of the square that I had outlined with a pink highlighter and decorated with yellow stars. And I remember feeling a swell of happiness and pride deep inside and thinking, "YES! I was born on the day that celebrates being a woman!"
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Because being a woman is worth celebrating, my dear daughters. It doesn’t mean we despise men or think we are better than the other gender. But we can celebrate all the beauty and life and love God poured out when he made Eve. Daughters, if I could have one birthday wish on this Women’s Day, I want more than anything for you to live into all that it means to be women.
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And I want more than anything for you to be whole. For you to feel comfortable in your skin, with the birthmark on your thigh and your slightly crooked front teeth. With your ear that isn’t quite the same as everyone else’s and your delicate almond-shaped eyes. I want you to look into the mirror with gentle self-acceptance and see all the beauty.
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And I want more than anything for you to be brave. For you to stand up and ask the question that no one else will utter and learn that to be respectful and gentle doesn’t always mean being quiet and docile. For you to be a voice for the voiceless and a friend of the friendless. I want you to know the sound of yourself in a quiet-but-full room and be able to say hard things in love even if your voice shakes as you do.
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And I want more than anything for you to be kind. For you to always say hello to the kids who might look or act or sound a little different and for them to know they always have a place to sit by you in the cafeteria. For you to treat everyone you meet – from the woman who checks your groceries to the man who might not have a bed of his own – as they should be treated, as a son and daughter of the King. I want you to be the kind of women who leave Jesus in their wake and remind people that love wins.
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And I want more than anything for you to be strong. For you to know that strength never means pushing others down but pulling them up. For you to know that gentleness and compassion are some of the hallmarks of strength, and that worlds change when we live strongly. I want you to embody that beautiful feminine combination of tenderness and confidence, trusting that God goes before you and fills you up so that you can pour out His love and mercy in this broken world.
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And I want more than anything for you to know you are loved and precious and valuable. Not for how well you do in school or how perfectly you behave; not for how many friends like your posts or what career path you choose. No, your worth comes from the Father who made you, and is based solely on the fact that you are His daughter; the keeper of a divine spark… precious and worth far more than rubies. I love you. Your daddy loves you. And most importantly, I want you to walk in the knowledge that your Creator loves you.
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At an ordinary stoplight on an ordinary day, Cora you shouted out, “I’m going to change the world!” And all I could think was, “AMEN, sister.” You are going to change the world, brave girl! You will change the world, because you are powerful and full of His light; you will bear His name with you wherever you go, and it will undoubtedly change worlds.
You've both already changed mine.<br />
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So, my daughters… be women who love. Be courageous. Be brave. Be world-changers. Stand up for underdogs and don’t back down in the face of darkness. You are bearers of his light, and darkness has no place or power around you. Be gentle and tender and kind, with yourself and all whom God puts in your path. Remember that someday the most world-changing and powerful thing you’ll ever do might also seem like the smallest… like holding a baby close and whispering into her ear as she falls asleep that she is loved and precious and carries a bit of the divine. As women, we are an intoxicating mix of God’s power and his tenderness. His strength and his compassion. His bravery and his empathy. Live into that, daughters. And celebrate all that it means to be a woman.
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Love,
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Mama <br />
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Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-55314953837324365222015-02-27T07:52:00.004-06:002015-02-27T07:52:50.887-06:00Out of the DarknessI don’t think I will ever be the mom who believes God’s original and best plan for my daughter was for her to be in my home. <br />
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I realize that’s a controversial statement, and perhaps many of the people reading this will feel something bristle inside of them as they think about their own precious children who came into their families through similar roads. But I can’t believe that a loving God who designed all of creation to be whole and in harmony and in relationship with Him would carefully knit my daughter together in her mother’s womb with the intention that she be wrenched away from the very spot He placed her in the earliest days of her life. That was a tragedy. She was collateral damage in this war-torn and fallen world. I do, however, believe that a loving God redeems and restores all broken things, and I have no doubt that He orchestrated untold miracles to ensure that our paths would cross at just the right time and give me the unspeakable honor and joy of walking out life as her mama. But there is a tension there, and in recent weeks, I’ve come to realize that this tension between His original plan and His redemptive plan has wrongly settled in my heart as often feeling that I’m really not the woman He meant for this job. <br />
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She came out of anesthesia kicking and screaming… holding her breath without ever opening her eyes, she stiffened and clawed and then gasped and screamed. Then she’d hold her breath all over again and do the whole cycle once more. She was clearly fighting to wake up. <em>“It’s normal,”</em> the nurse kept saying to me over and over… looking at me with the unblinking calm of a woman who has seen far too many wide-eyed mamas panic as their children writhed and kicked and battled their way back to reality. <em>“Just keep holding her,”</em> she said. <em>“You’re doing great, mama.”</em><br />
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<em><a href="http://www.nohandsbutours.com/2015/02/27/out-of-the-darkness/">Keep reading over at No Hands But Ours...</a></em>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-68789399989012202392014-09-03T20:45:00.000-05:002014-09-03T20:45:04.798-05:00Love is WarShe’s been clawing – literally, until I cut her fingernails – at my legs all day long. Whining and whimpering and the hours go so slow I sometimes wonder if the clock is moving at all. Cora entertains herself, like she does almost every day lately, and I squelch the feelings that I’m letting her down… that I’m not present enough for her… that I’m not putting together Pinterest-worthy craft projects to help her grow and learn and get ahead of the curve.<br />
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I stare at the dishes in the sink and the laundry in the hamper and the spilled juice on the floor. I vow to finish cleaning the kitchen even if I have to pry Alea off me 1,000 more times. I know the saying about letting the dishes pile and the laundry stay unfolded because babies don’t keep. Believe me, I feel guilt for this too. But I can’t breathe in a cluttered house and it seems like the only time she isn’t fussing is if I’m either holding her or not present to pick her up. I look at the clock again and calculate how many minutes are left until naptime. 3 hours. 180 minutes. It feels like the first time I’ve used my brain all day. The whining cuts through my thoughts again.<br />
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<em>“Alea! You’re OK!”</em> I bark the words, cringing at the harshness ringing the edges even as they come spilling out. Alea is unphased, and her fussing continues unabated, but Cora pipes up.<br />
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<em>“Mama, be nice.”</em><br />
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<em>“You’re right, I’m sorry. I just feel a little tired because Alea has been fussing all day long.”</em> I sigh, feeling like a failure again. The critical voice inside pipes up, <em>“Actually it’s been 4 months of fussing, but what does that matter… who speaks sharply to a baby who is going through the greatest trauma and transition of her life?!”</em><br />
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<em>“Did you make a bad choice, Mama?”</em><br />
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“Yes, Cora, I made a bad choice. I need to use kind words, don’t I?”<br />
</em><em>“Yes Mama, but it’s ok. You can try again.”</em><br />
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I look at the clock. 175 minutes till naptime. I try again.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nohandsbutours.com/2014/08/27/7406/">Keep Reading at No Hands But Ours...</a>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-46093943565383232102014-07-18T22:11:00.001-05:002014-07-18T22:11:33.234-05:00In My Kitchen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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He stood in my kitchen, chopping vegetables and preparing ingredients for a stir-fry. I rummaged through my refrigerator, finding more vegetables wrinkled and withered from too long in the bottom shelf. He rejected a few and accepted a lot and purposefully went about the business of cutting the red pepper into thin even strips. For a 15-year-old boy, he knew exactly what he wanted to create.
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I watched in amazement. Because the last time I spent time with this young man we were at his orphanage in China. <br />
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It was only our second time to visit China – before we decided to move there – and we were serving at Sammy’s orphanage for a week. We were there for his 9th birthday, and we bought him his only birthday gift… a small package of M&Ms. I certainly could have bought him more, but that was the only gift I could think to give him that wouldn’t immediately become community property. If I remember correctly, he still chose to share them with all the other children.
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He bonded with Jacob. In most of the pictures I have from that trip, he was nestled as close to Jacob as a boy could get. And at the end of the week when he was crying at the airport as we said goodbye, a reporter told him that if he stopped crying and did good in school, we would come back to adopt him. Sammy straightened his shoulders, wiped his tears, and bravely nodded.
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And I wept. I wept harder than perhaps I’ve ever wept because it simply wasn’t true. We were 24 and 26 years old. There were several adoption requirements we didn’t meet, and at a bare minimum, we were 6 years away from meeting the age requirement. And all I could think of was the fact that this sweet boy would spend the rest of his days in an institution thinking that he just wasn’t doing good enough in school to deserve a family. And there was nothing I could do to tell him otherwise.
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A year passed, but we hadn’t forgotten him. And one day I opened an email on a lark and read a brief – and completely vague -- description of a boy that was available for adoption that might be him. And it was. <a href="http://jacobandcarrie.blogspot.com/2009/04/full-circle.html"> Back in 2009 I shared what happened next</a>, and to be honest it remains one of the greatest miracles I’ve witnessed in my life.
(Seriously, go read the story...)<br />
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And this week Sammy’s family brought him to visit. And he stood in my kitchen and made a stir-fry. And he shared bits and pieces of his story – hard memories from the orphanage and what it is like to have a family. “I never, ever dreamed I would ever get a family,” he said, shaking his head with the thankful disbelief that clearly still lingers. You know the verse that talks about how the Father loves to do more than we could ever ask or imagine? For Sammy, that was getting a family… something I know I still take as a given, despite what I’ve witnessed in life. This week I’ve been pondering how sometimes WE get to be the thing that someone else could never ask or imagine when we say YES to God, even when it is terrifying.
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My heart is heavy tonight. Heavy for kids like <a href="http://www.ccaifamily.org/WaitingChild/WaitingChildProfile.aspx">those listed on this page</a> who maybe don’t have the benefit of an advocate who can share insight into their personality and heart. <a href="http://feet2ourfaith.blogspot.com/2014/07/estys-friend-branch-needs-family.html"> Heavy for kids like Esty and Branch.</a> Heavy for the friends of Sammy who still remain in the orphanage and are now too old to be adopted. It’s a lot of heaviness. But I also have so much HOPE because I know the One who makes burdens light, and I know the One who in His goodness and mercy never ever forgets a single lost sheep.
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Because He brought Sammy to my kitchen this week.
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Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-39957227431659536692014-05-27T21:17:00.001-05:002014-05-27T21:17:00.837-05:00A Birth StoryMotherhood always starts with a birth story.<br />
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Because no matter if you pull your baby out of a birthing pool with your own two hands, receive her from the arms of a social worker outside the hospital nursery, or pull him – screaming – from the arms of the orphanage worker who brought him halfway across the province and met you in a stuffy civil affairs room thick with the smell of stale smoke and fear, motherhood always starts in a monumental moment.<br />
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And you never feel ready. But in that monumental moment, a mother is born.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nohandsbutours.com/2014/05/27/a-birth-story/">Read the rest over at No Hands But Ours... Won't you please join me there?</a>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-51163407524439383932014-05-10T22:36:00.001-05:002014-05-10T22:36:46.852-05:00Mother's Day SorrowTomorrow is my first mother’s day as a mama of two. Despite the moments when there doesn’t seem to be enough of me to go around, I remain stunned by the enormous gift Alea has been to our family. I remain bowed low in thankfulness that God cleared the way for her to join our family... that absolutely every door flung open and there were no hindrances in our way as we sought to bring her home. Today we turned the music up loud as Cora danced and spun around the living room – shouting for Alea to watch her. And as I saw Alea’s eyes lock on her sister and untamed joy spread across every inch of her face, I could only think, “How did I ever deserve such a gift?” These two beautiful and perfect girls and their amazing daddy standing right in that room, twirling and singing and shouting of His goodness. It’s more precious and spectacular than any Mother’s Day gift I could dream of receiving, and I want to hit pause on this moment… to pause it so I can marvel just a little bit more at the miracle that happened when God set Alea in our family six short weeks ago.<br />
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But while my heart swells with joy at the gift I’ve been given in these children, Mother’s Day might never be the same for me again because I realize that it carries a sort of sorrow with it as well. I am Alea’s mama, but I’m not the only one. I feel her first mama’s gaze when I look into Alea’s eyes in the middle of the night – dark and searching my face. I feel her arms tighten when Alea snuggles deeper into my arms as I’m rocking her to sleep and sometimes even when she’s pushing me away. I feel her breath as Alea’s face inches closer to mine as she sleeps. I hear her voice in Alea’s laughter as we twirl in circles, and I think about the fact that though I’m not her first mama, I’m the first one who got to hear the precious sound of Alea calling for her “mama.” I’ve stood on the ground where she last saw Alea and I’ve clutched the little hat that she last placed on our daughter’s head. This woman is as real to me as anyone could be, and while I don’t know – and may never know – whether it was circumstance, tragedy or simply choice that resulted in Alea leaving her care, I do know that she will forever be a part of our story and will always have a place in my heart.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdVwRpfZApSjxTsWXxoJjsgy2vuj7S7_IhmmumuO_DLcLnpsIyRAHdw3yb91hM-7U4fQv-r1bK-HQIt-kpd2KD6Ttl1JieSUS_poVpaO4tI8hCD-l06oZHW0HrFTO99f6boz-NSesCR4/s1600/graphic.jpb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdVwRpfZApSjxTsWXxoJjsgy2vuj7S7_IhmmumuO_DLcLnpsIyRAHdw3yb91hM-7U4fQv-r1bK-HQIt-kpd2KD6Ttl1JieSUS_poVpaO4tI8hCD-l06oZHW0HrFTO99f6boz-NSesCR4/s1600/graphic.jpb.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a>I know for Alea, Mother’s Day will likely always be bittersweet. I hope I can grow to be the mama she needs and the one she wants and the one she loves. It is one of my heart’s deepest prayers for both of my girls. But I don’t pretend to think that I could ever replace her first mama. I don’t even want to replace her. I’m OK with the fact that I will always share Mother’s Day with another woman in Alea’s heart, and my only prayer is that I can love her well as she grieves and wrestles and wonders and hopes. <br />
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I know in the deepest parts of my being that Alea’s first mama will always carry a little part of our daughter with her and I believe she is never far from her thoughts. I don’t think any mother can simply walk away from her child and never, ever, ever look back, and so I imagine she carries the weight and the sorrow and the tragedy of her choice with her wherever she goes. On this Mother’s Day, I carry her in my heart. She’s a sister-of-sorts to me, and though I may never know her name, I feel like we are more intimately tied together than I can find words to describe. My only prayer is that she will find comfort as she grieves and wrestles and wonders and hopes, and that she may be freed from any guilt or condemnation that she may carry and know nothing but the boundless horizons of God’s amazing love and grace and mercy.<br />
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Every day I fall more deeply in love with my precious new daughter. She is a gift and a treasure in every sense of the word... I'm so incredibly grateful to be her mama, and while I'll never be sorry for that, I will always wish her journey to my nest hadn't started in such brokenness. <a href="http://jodyrlanders.com/">Jody Landers</a> said it best... "A child born to another woman calls me mama. The depth of that tragedy and the magnitude of that privilege are not lost on me."<br />
Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-55208630642198148252014-04-19T22:46:00.000-05:002014-04-19T22:46:14.391-05:00Like Rain in the DesertIt seems fitting to me that it’s raining in the desert the night before Easter.
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I can’t remember the last time it rained, and I’ve opened the windows wide in our house. Propped the back door open. I’m inhaling the scent of the air washed clean of all the dust it usually carries; listening to the quiet rumble of thunder. My babies are both asleep for now. It’s been a hard day, and I’m glad for the few minutes of stillness with this soundtrack of peace falling in heavy drops right outside the window. It is grace-for-the-moment, exactly what my heart needed to close out this day.
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Alea doesn’t feel well… 17 months is a brutal age for anyone, I think. Caught between babyhood and toddler, your desire for independence far outstrips your communication skills or physical mobility. Throw in some teething (Seriously… the poor child seems to be cutting almost all of her teeth at the same time. She has gone from about 4-5 teeth to about 9 in the 3 weeks we have had her… with more on the way), an ear infection and fever, a total change in diet and schedule, and completely new routines, caregivers, and OhAbsolutelyEverything, and you have a recipe for disaster. <br />
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I’m amazed she smiles at all. As my sister-in-law said tonight, “If a grown-up went through what Alea has just gone through, they’d probably be thrown into a depression.” And for the most part, Alea is happy… or at least amused and distracted. But today she has really not felt well, and I’ve discovered in those moments when she is most distraught, most inconsolable, and most undone, that I am not the one she wants.
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I’m not sure if she even knows the one she wants. She wasn’t held much when she cried in China, her nanny told me as much. (Who has time to hold crying babies when there are 30 cribs in a room?) But maybe she is mourning the loss of her nanny. Maybe it is her arms that she wants. Or maybe she just doesn’t know what to do with the intimacy of another person holding her when she is in pain. Sometimes as she’s crying and I cradle her, she arches away from me – pushing her body and her face… every bit of her being – to face in the other direction. So I set her down, thinking maybe she needs just a bit of space. But then her cry turns to a heartbreaking wail, as if she is saying “I know I said I don’t want you to hold me, but I can’t bear for you to walk away.”
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And in those moments, I’ve come to realize I am in a fight for her heart. I need to woo her. To win her. To become her safe place in time of trouble. I need to teach her that she doesn’t have to be big and strong anymore. She can come snuggle in mama’s arms when her whole body aches. She doesn’t have to twist her head from side to side or pull on her hair to find peace. She can find shelter in my arms.
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I know this is my purpose, my calling in this season of motherhood with Alea. Much like the endless nights I spent feeding and rocking Cora in the early weeks of life with her, this is the season of motherhood with Alea where I’m laying a foundation of trust, love, and responsiveness. It’s where the hard work of tilling the soil of her heart takes place… We knew coming into this journey that parenting a child who spent the first part of her life in an institution would look different – it is intense, it is therapeutic, and it is all-consuming. If Cora fussed a bit at 17 months, I knew we had the foundation of trust she needed for me to make a decision sometimes to just get dinner on the table, or to finish the project I was working on. But with Alea right now, she doesn’t have that foundation, so I am always on call. Part of wooing her and winning her heart is proving to her that when she needs something, we will be there to respond, and right now for Alea that mostly looks like being held for almost every waking hour of the day.
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<strong>I don’t have it in me.</strong>
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I’ll be honest, I don’t think of myself as an amazingly-gifted, well-equipped mama. (Does anyone? Don't answer that if you do.) I find myself saying a joyful Hallelujah most days at bedtime. I am distracted, easily bored with child’s play, and far too connected to the blasted-iPhone-in-my-hand-at-all-times. In my own estimation, I feel so far from the mama I believe my girls need, and yet I’m the one they have. Especially when it comes to Alea, I’m shocked that she is mine. I know the paperwork process of an adoption is overwhelming for some more than others, but to me it isn’t that bad, and I can’t tell you the number of times I pause and shake my head in wonder that with so little effort on our part, the Chinese authorities entrusted her to us… forever!
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It’s a miracle like rain in the desert the night before Easter.
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When we got our Travel Approval to pick up Alea, I made a little video to announce our big news. I’ve not been able to get the chorus of the background track out of my head for months, and tonight one line from it continues to echo in my head… “Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday.”
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<strong>I’m so glad I don’t have to have it in me.</strong>
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I’m so glad he comes in like a rainstorm in the desert… flashes of lightning and rolling thunder. Desert rain is slow and steady at times and torrential and powerful at others, just like his love for us. His love fills the cracks in the driest places and seemingly overnight something blooms in what seemed like dead ground. Sometimes it is just enough to pull the dust out of the air and everyone is thankful for the relief, but sometimes it is extravagantly, ridiculously, absurdly more than we could ask or imagine. Sometimes we have boats rowing down the main streets in our town and children splashing in puddles as deep as their knees. And sometimes his love overtakes us like that; it swallows us up and fills our dry cracks and gives us a reason to stand in the backyard staring straight up into the downpour with our arms stretched wide and our mouths open… dizzy from the kaleidoscope of heavy drops falling down on us, mixing with our tears of joy and sorrow and washing away all of the pain of yesterday.
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<strong>I don’t even need to have it in me.</strong>
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It’s been hard these last few weeks, and I have a feeling it is going to get even harder before it gets better. But I know that the God who sends a desert rain the night before we celebrate his resurrection is in the business of bringing life after death, and I am trusting him with this journey. He is going to do something new in Alea’s heart, and He is doing something new in mine too. He is breaking off the dead, tearing out the sorrow, finding the deepest hurts and wounds and putting his finger right on the place that feels the most raw… and though it hurts, he is pushing us together and we will heal as one. Our hearts are being stitched together. She is mine and I am hers and He is our Father who stitches together beautiful things out of our broken pieces.
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<strong>I’m only thankful He is in me.</strong>
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This Easter has found me doing more of the liturgy of the ordinary than anything focused on Holy Week. Laundry, rocking babies, snuggling with my big girl, calling doctors, washing dishes, making bottles. I’ve missed all the services our church offered in celebration of Easter – things I would have liked to have attended, as I’m someone who loves the ritual and celebration. If Alea isn’t feeling better in the morning, we probably won’t even make it to Easter services. But despite my lack of formal observance this year, I’ve found myself more thankful than ever for what this season means. It’s a dark week. The crowds roar “Hosanna” on Sunday and “Crucify Him” on Friday. It doesn’t seem possible that it could end well, and in the middle of the darkness and death and destruction it feels foolish to hope for new life. But as I hold my broken-hearted little girl, sensing more and more the depth of her woundings, I find myself emboldened by the unlikely promise of the Easter story. My Jesus is in the business of redemption and restoration. And he will not leave her like this. She may not wear the legal label of orphan anymore, but he isn’t going to leave her with an orphan spirit either. Those angry and snarled roots of darkness and death and destruction will be removed by the one who makes dead things alive, and they will not hold her back from the LIFE he wants her to have. I don’t know how we will get to that place of healing – it may be quite the journey – but I have the utmost confidence and peace that we will get there together.
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<br />
He rains in the desert and in the desert of our hearts. He fills the broken places and the cracks in the ground and our cups to overflowing. He will give me all that I need to be a mama to my girls, and He gives me every reason to foolishly believe in his plan for redemption of each of our stories. Easter is a promise of new life, so it is fitting that it is raining in the desert the night before Easter. I can hardly wait to see all that grows.<br />
<br />
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<em>-----</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em></em> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>Photo Credit -- <a href="http://sandypucphotography.com/blog/?load/blog_detail/page/53679/item/3419/ccai-trip-china-2014-pt--1">The incredible duo of Sandy Puc and her son Nic</a> photographed our group of families the day we met our children. These pictures were taken in the first few minutes after we met Alea.</em></div>
Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-20192783334200338452014-04-11T09:57:00.002-05:002014-04-11T09:57:17.954-05:00Lean In<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lean in baby girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Snuggle close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here let me help
you find your fingers in the dark; I know they comfort you in a way I cannot
yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re on this journey together, and we’ll get
there together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m learning you, and as
I see my reflection in your dark eyes – studying me with the same intensity I
saw in the very first photo I ever glimpsed of you – I know you’re learning me
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0LelUlK380LBjWZiE00QgAjgEhQh4X9A1k3TAuZSDHiY_4NB5850V2dMPUXh8NM6P6NdGlDACZFZVdze9ZV2fND46hHE9qoRIoBioeynF0Po8JRu3d0GEHrwfTs0Xg8bxnqW4Z-ho8S0/s1600/DSC02282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0LelUlK380LBjWZiE00QgAjgEhQh4X9A1k3TAuZSDHiY_4NB5850V2dMPUXh8NM6P6NdGlDACZFZVdze9ZV2fND46hHE9qoRIoBioeynF0Po8JRu3d0GEHrwfTs0Xg8bxnqW4Z-ho8S0/s1600/DSC02282.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s hard to believe three weeks ago, we hadn’t met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve been a part of my heart for so long,
it just feels right to finally have you in my arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You feel familiar, even in the all the
newness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s surprising me how
quickly you’ve become mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’d
know the sound of your sleeping breath in the dark now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I write this, I can picture the tiny
little dimple that magically appears on your left cheek when you smile wide. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know your smell and the way your forehead
feels when you press it against my lips for a kiss. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m starting to know the difference between your
“I’m fussy” cry and the “I’m hurt/scared cry,” and I’m starting to know what might
make you happy if you need a pick-me-up (outside, bath, bottle, rice crackers, other
food, or graham crackers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention
crackers?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re learning each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will take time for both of us,
but you’re mine and I’m yours, and I’m thankful baby girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">These early days haven’t been easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not going to sugar-coat anything because
someday you may want to know as many details of our journey to each other as I
can remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And since this is a blog,
other people considering the same journey and reading this may need honesty rather than frivolity.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as I have kept saying to your daddy, it
could be so much harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve taken to
us so well already… the first few days, you seemed so “flat.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t hear you cry for at least 3
days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then the fussiness
started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think perhaps you realized
you finally had a voice, and you’ve been practicing using it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve done our best to respond – to show you
that you’re precious and that your voice matters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But mama’s tired, sweet girl, and I find
myself looking forward to the days when your smiles outweigh your
whimpers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know they’re ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see glimmers of joy in you already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s there… it just needs more time to take
root.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take your time, sweet girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have all the time we need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But the rapid swing from flat to fussy means only good
things to me… it means you’re learning we’re your people and that we care about
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see evidence of that even in your
moments of joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You reach to be held by
us if someone else has picked you up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You smile wide when your daddy walks in the door after work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You reach out in the dark while you’re sleeping,
and if you feel me there, you settle back into dreamland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while the fussiness might be taxing, I
know it means your heart is being knitted to ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The trip home was brutal… but again, it could have been so
much harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You and Cora slept on and
off for much of the long flight home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
had a pretty long layover in Houston where we saw some friends and family… and
then after too much drama and thanks to an angel-in-disguise ticket agent (and
probably a few of mama’s tears), we snagged the last seats on the last flight
home after ours was canceled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got
home at midnight and promptly bathed everyone and crashed for a solid 7-8
hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first night home always makes
weary travelers think jetlag won’t be a problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next 4-5 days laugh at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re still in jetlag fog, but even in that,
we’ve managed to get out of the house for ice cream, the park, Target, and a Bible
Study, where you sat on my lap while I had grown-up conversation with my tribe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had big plans to never leave the house with
you, but you seem happiest when you are on the go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world is so BIG, and you seem to know there’s
much to be seen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Evening is the hardest…
you fuss and whine from about 4pm till we put you to bed, and the last two
nights you’ve woken every 30-45 minutes until midnight or 2:00 am, and then you
finally and solidly crash for the rest of the night till about 7.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve decided the best way to get through this is to accept
the fact that I have a newborn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may
be 17 months, but you’ve been in our family for less than 3 weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So emotionally, I have a 3 week old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I treat you like I would a 3 week old,
and set my expectations accordingly, we all have a lot of peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the thing about newborns is they don’t
stay that way forever… so I know this will only get easier with time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And like I said, baby girl, we have all the
time we need.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our social worker visited today for our first post-placement
visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She offered nothing but
encouragement and said she sees only good signs in your adjustment, attachment,
and physical condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have your
first pediatrician appointment next week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know they’ll say you are a petite little bug, so I’m probably going to
have you wear your “Though she be but little, she is fierce” t-shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shakespeare had you in mind when he wrote
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We know you have some catching-up to do, but
so far we see nothing but determination and feistiness, so we’re excited to see
who you will become in the next six months.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So lean in baby girl… I’m your mama and you’re my girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You aren’t alone anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You aren’t fighting by yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have a daddy who knows just how you like
to play, a sister who can make you smile, and a whole family and community who
loves you like crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Snuggle close and
take a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can rest
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
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</span>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-85895534148875477942014-03-14T08:37:00.000-05:002014-03-14T08:37:24.990-05:00Last DayThe house is quiet. LeLe is sprawled on the guest bed behind me, sighing as she stretches and wakes up, pleased that she has the entire bed to herself. I hear Cora's sound machine, but her room is quiet and dark otherwise... we've been keeping her up later and later each night to help with the jetlag, so she may not wake for another hour or more. Our bags are mostly packed. A few more things in, a few things out, and they will be ready for the final zip. And just like that, here we are: Our last day home.<br />
<br />
The day before we leave for China. My last day in our own home as a stay-at-home mama of my feisty and sweet little girl. <br />
<br />
<em><strong><a href="http://blog.scarletthreads.org/2014/03/last-day.html">Read the rest at the Scarlet Threads blog...</a></strong></em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>(I hope/plan to blog while we are in China on our journey to adopt Alea, and those posts will be on the Scarlet Threads blog. So if you want to follow-along with us on this journey, please check in there!)</em>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-24467416113085109482014-02-16T23:26:00.001-06:002014-02-16T23:26:37.059-06:00Crystal-Clear MysteryThe wait feels a bit like it might never end right now… sort of how I felt when I was 9 months pregnant with Cora and I thought maybe… just maybe… I was doomed to be the first woman in the history of the world who was permanently pregnant.
(She came two weeks late.) <br />
<br />
Pregnancy wasn’t my friend, but at least Cora was snuggled up safely inside of me.
<br />
<br />
This is so very different. In some ways I feel very detached; like this all might be a dream and I will wake up and find out that we don’t have another daughter waiting on the other side of the world. It’s all so intangible at this point. We haven’t yet installed her car seat, and we haven’t yet set up her co-sleeper. I have begun buying clothing for her, but it’s hard when we aren’t sure exactly what size she is. And then there’s the part of my heart that doesn’t want to accept the fact that the measurements they’ve given me could possibly be true. Our sweet 15 month old daughter weighs what Cora did at 6 months old. I don’t even want to look at a growth chart…
<br />
<br />
If all continues to go as planned, we might find ourselves on an airplane in about a month... but with no firm dates, it's still very much up in the air. There's so much I could be doing to prepare, but tonight when my little family went to bed early and I was left to my thoughts, they turned towards her. I want to know everything I possibly can about Alea, and I thought about what I had not yet explored. My eyes perused her paperwork once again and settled on the sentence that describes where she was found. With the help of a friend in China (via an amazing little app called WeChat that allows me to text my Chinese friends), we clarified the confusing translation and I located the place on Google Earth within about 20 minutes.
<br />
<br />
And just like that, I see the place she was found in grainy clarity.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Technology is a strange thing. So close and yet so far away... As I look at that photograph, I know that somewhere in this little section of earth, my darling little girl was left to be found. A crystal-clear mystery. Her heart-breaking reality.<br />
<br />
It didn’t take much more effort to discover actual pictures of the location. I saved those to share with Alea someday in case we aren’t able to visit the spot. <br />
<br />
I don’t have much to say about this. Mostly just questions… why this place? Does her family live in the area? Could we someday find them? Where exactly was she placed? How long did she wait before she was discovered? Did someone who loves her watch from a safe distance to make sure she was discovered? Do they still wonder what became of her?<br />
<br />
I don't have much to say… Mostly just an aching sadness and growing sense that I need to get my little girl home.
<br />
<br />
------<br />
<br />
<em>Please pray with us that our paperwork is processed as expected and we can be on that airplane next month. Just think, this might be Alea's last month as an orphan.</em>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-15395867327562891452014-01-30T21:43:00.002-06:002014-01-30T21:43:52.058-06:00Soon, Darling, SoonDarling Alea,
<br />
<br />
It was a quiet and simple day at home… it won’t be long until you are here, too. Soon, darling, soon.
<br />
<br />
Your sister is singing herself to sleep in the room right next door. We’ve had a busy day of enjoying tea parties with her ‘lemon-lem’ (lemon flavored seltzer water) and sharing fruit snacks… we’ve also watched a few too many episodes of <em>Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood</em>, but when you’re recovering from a stomach virus, sometimes you need to veg on the couch. That’s a life lesson your mama will teach you.
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We’ve had a rough few weeks of colds, stomach viruses, and I-can’t-wait-till-Spring ailments. You’re never far from my mind when your sister is sick. I know what it’s like in an orphanage when sickness is spreading and there aren’t enough arms to hold and hands to comfort… I ache to be there for you, and I pray you haven’t been sick very often this winter… it hurts my heart to think of you not getting a mama’s arms wrapped around you when your forehead is clammy with fever or your stomach is heaving. Soon, darling, soon.
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It’s Chinese New Year’s Eve over here tonight… I had messages from Chinese friends wishing me <em>Xin Nian Kuai Le</em> in the early afternoon, just as the party was at its height on your side of the ocean. We’re planning to make <em>jiaozi</em> and <em>baozi</em> this weekend. I’m sure you fell asleep to the sound of firecrackers last night... we won’t have any of those here this time of year, but I can’t wait to take you to see the fireworks after the summertime baseball games at the stadium down the road! Chinese New Year is such an important holiday in your homeland… it’s all about family, but it sank in today that even though this is your second New Year, you’ve likely never experienced it for what it should be. Because as a child growing up in an orphanage, it’s as if you are part of a separate culture… orphan culture. One where every day looks the same and nothing extraordinary marks the changing of the seasons. It’s a holiday all about family, and this is the last time you’ll celebrate it without one. Soon, darling, soon.
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We had lunch with some friends yesterday. Between bites of her salad, my friend looked me straight in the eyes and cut straight to my heart. “I have a word for you, Carrie,” she said. “Don’t let your fear steal your joy.” I confess that I have been guilty of succumbing to joy-stealing-fear for the last few months.. really since I've known who you were. (Please know it has nothing to do with YOU... it's just before I had a face, it was easy to not think too much about these sorts of things.) Whether it’s about how you and your sister will get along or how you will sleep or if you’ll be able to find any comfort in me or… I could go on and on, but it doesn’t matter. The truth is, I’ve let myself wander too deeply into those fearful waters on more than one occasion. But the answer to it lies in your very name, Alea Hope. Rising Hope. HOPE.
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/boy-with-balloons/?now=2011-09-24-02:01&src=delay2011pod">Image Credit: National Geographic</a></span></em></div>
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A few weeks ago at church, we said a corporate prayer of confession, and the lines rang truer than my soul could bear. “<em>Oh Holy One… Sometimes fear makes us small, and we miss the chance to speak from your strength. Sometimes doubt invades our hopefulness, and we degrade your wisdom… Help us to see you in the moment-by-moment possibilities to live honestly, to act courageously, and to speak from your wisdom</em>.” I have pondered those words these last two weeks, and I’m reminded that HOPE is a powerful thing. <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171619"> It’s a thing with feathers, as Dickenson said</a>. And when we hold onto hope, our souls take flight. Hope can’t help but rise. And so now when doubt and fear sink into my heart, I turn my face towards Him.<em> I am weak, but He is strong. His strength is made perfect in my weakness. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. He will bring this good work to completion.</em> The words come easy when my face is turned up towards Him, and the Truth in each one is like a helium balloon to my heart. It lifts and inspires and encourages and lets joy and anticipation take its rightful place. Hope Rises.
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Soon, darling, soon, I will be your mama and we will begin a journey that will take us both places we cannot imagine. You will be terrified and so will I. We both bring our woundings and our stories and our histories in our baggage as we start out on this new path together, but the beauty in this journey is that we aren’t responsible for carrying all of that. We have a Father who does that for us, and as He shoulders our burdens, every single day He is faithful to give us the wisdom and the grace and the tender mercy to get through the trials of that day. He is manna. (That's another life lesson your mama will teach you.) None among us are untouched by evil, and though it breaks my heart that tragedy rocked your world at the tender age of 10 days old, I have no doubt that His hand is already working for redemption and restoration and fulfillment of destiny in your life, and I know somehow He will use me in that plan. And while I can’t imagine what it might look like yet, I have no doubt that He will use you as an instrument of redemption and restoration and fulfillment of destiny in my own life, just as he is using your big sister. He is the one who makes our paths straight; we need only keep our eyes on Him. “<em>Holy God, in the daily round from sunrise to sunset, remind us again of your holy presence hovering near us and in us</em>.”
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Soon, darling, soon, our journey together begins. And when it does, His presence will be thick and hovering and covering each of us and all of our fears and inadequacies.
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Soon, darling, soon, our journey together begins. And my heart soars at the very thought of it.
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Love, Mama
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<em>O Holy One, we call to you and name you as eternal, ever-present, and boundless in love. Yet there are times, O God, when we fail to recognize you in the dailyness of our lives. Sometimes shame clenches tightly around our hearts, and we hide our true feelings. Sometimes fear makes us small, and we miss the chance to speak from your strength. Sometimes doubt invades our hopefulness, and we degrade your wisdom. </em></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>Holy God, in the daily round from sunrise to sunset, remind us again of your holy presence hovering near us and in us. Free us from shame and self-doubt. Help us to see you in the moment-by-moment possibilities to live honestly, to act courageously, and to speak from your wisdom. </em></blockquote>
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<em>Amen.
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Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-16301835331380773562014-01-07T13:45:00.000-06:002014-01-07T13:46:04.835-06:00Here We GoYou are my firecracker and my sweet-as-cotton-candy love. I’m crazy about you. You are my favorite three year old, though I can hardly believe that it’s true. Your birthday was Sunday. Where did three years go? You are brave and strong and you love fiercely. When you hug, it is never half-hearted. It is teeth-clenched, arms tight, hard-as-you-can-possibly-squeeze intense, as if the best way to show someone you love them is to really make them feel it. I think you’re probably right.
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You love to cuddle and snuggle and wear your “comfy cozy jammies.” You’re smart as a whip and regularly surprise us with your ability to creatively solve your problems… recently you (the girl who loves to do everything herself) began asking us to come to the bathroom with you so that you can “hold onto our legs.” When we asked you why, you matter-of-factly announced it was so you wouldn’t have to touch the toilet and therefore not have to wash your hands. (You don’t want to slow down long enough to wash your hands, and I’ve told you in the past that you must do so after using the bathroom and touching the germy toilet.) We laughed at your problem-solving. You love your puppy, LeLe, and regularly tell her that she’s a good dog. Except when she isn’t, and then you like to point out her foibles. It won’t be long till you take the same approach to us. Your descriptor-of-choice for people lucky enough to be in your good favor is “girl.” Those who aren’t are all “boys.” Regardless of a person’s actual gender, I might add. The other day after your daddy did something that particularly pleased you, you happily sighed and told me, “I love my daddy, mama. He’s not a boy anymore.” It’s nice to know you have a concept of grace.<br />
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You sing with joy, and your favorite song – on repeat in the car for weeks now – is Ten Thousand Reasons by Matt Redman. You know all the words, and when the tempo picks up in preparation for the chorus you grin and shout, “Here we go mama!” I can’t help but shout the same thing in my heart. Yes, sweetheart, here we go.<br />
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It seems like yesterday we were driving down the bumpy back roads late at night from Qingyundian into Beijing. I was so worried we’d get caught in traffic on the way to the hospital… I could see the spectacle in my mind: American women in full-blown labor on a crowded Beijing subway. Some adventures don’t seem worth having. But you told us you were coming in the evening, and we made it to the hospital in about an hour. Our doctor, Amber Chen, was waiting as I came off the elevator. The evening passed in a blur… fitful bits of sleep and worried doctors and talk of dropping heart rates and meconium and the “baby must come now or we will do an emergency c-section.” I was fretful and tired and unsure how it would all work out, and just like that, there you were. “It’s a girl!” Dr. Chen announced. “Are you sure?” I asked. She was. And so I became a mama right there – laying on a hard bed one cold winter morning in downtown Beijing. Here we go.<br />
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And we’ve been on a journey, ever since, sweet girl. In some ways, you saved me from myself as we moved back to America. You kept me grounded as I processed the magnitude of leaving China and coming home… a far harder transition than moving there ever was. In those days of uncertainty, you gave me purpose. I found a quiet joy in watching you thrive, after years of being around little ones who weren’t. Parenting is such a challenging journey – partially because just as soon as you get used to one phase, it’s time for something new. But I’ve loved the journey with you, and while I’m particularly enjoying this season where I can have actual conversations with you and hear what you are thinking or feeling, what I wouldn’t give for just one more middle-of-the-night feeding. Our journey is changing sweet girl. You don’t understand, but it’s another one of those seasons where my heart hears the change in the music. Here we go, sweet girl!<br />
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You are about to be a big sister. I’m terrified you will hate it but convinced that you’ll love it. I have no doubt you’ll be good at the big sister gig, as long as your little allows you a bit of that “big sister” bossing privilege. But I know it is going to be hard for you. Sharing your toys, your room, your mama, and your daddy. Sharing your puppy and your whole little world. In my heart-of-hearts, I think you will be huge part of showing Alea the way of being in a family. You’ll take her by the hand and wrap her up in your love. You’ll take all that brave, strong, fierce love and you’ll learn what it means to love a sister. Sometimes it might feel like iron sharpening iron, but I believe the two of you will call out all that is best in each other. <br />
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Even if you don’t fully understand, I think you know in the deepest part of your heart something is happening. You look at the painting on our wall and tell me you want to ride an airplane to China. You point at the little black-haired-beauty holding your hand in the painting and tell me, “Let’s go get my friend.” My heart swells because you don’t even know what you’re saying, but it is true. We’re going to China again... the land where I first became a mama and you became a daughter. Our feet will hit that soil in just a few months, and our family will go through yet another massive transition. You will become a sister on the same ground where we became a family. Just like your birth, it might hurt and take our breath away sometimes, sweet girl. It’s OK to be scared and uncertain and wondering what the future will hold and how it will all turn out. I am, too. But one thing I know, we are on this journey together. <br />
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The music is changing; a new song is coming, and it’s almost time… Here we go, darling. <br />
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Here. We. Go.
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Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-34857348901687182162014-01-02T09:07:00.001-06:002014-01-02T09:07:44.402-06:00Third TrimesterIt’s the third trimester, and she’s taking up more space in my heart. <br />
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Like any mama-to-be, I’ve started cleaning out closets… clearing the clutter and half-broken toys and <em>when-did-I-ever-think-I-would-use-that-again</em> stuff of life. I’m making room, clearing schedules, excusing myself from commitments, slowing down. I want her to come home to a peaceful nest. We’re preparing as best as we can… watching hours of <a href="http://empoweredtoconnect.org/">Dr. Karyn Purvis</a> and talking to insurance companies and looking at car seats. There are signs of Alea everywhere; maybe not in my swelling body, but in our home. Breakables are being moved up a few shelves and her photo greets guests in our entryway. She’s quite literally <a href="http://www.nohandsbutours.com/2013/12/27/as-they-should-be/">painted into our family</a>. <br />
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Our agency has started sending e-mails about travel. I can’t believe we are already here. We started this adoption 8 months ago. We thought it would take 2 years. Everything seems to be in fast-forward, and I haven’t even begun to catch my breath. They say we could travel as early as March. I might be in China getting my girl for my birthday.<em> What a gift. </em> <br />
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Just like the third trimester, I spend part of each night awake. It’s as if the thoughts catch up with me in the nighttime. I’m going to have two daughters! How wonderful. How terrifying. <em>Can I be who they both need me to be? Is there room in my heart for more love? Is there enough of me to go around?</em> I’m thankful for my community of mamas… women who I watch mothering their little flocks with amazing grace and unending love. I see the way before me even if I don’t yet know the feel of the path under my feet. When I stop to think about the fact that in just a few more weeks we will have another child, I’m amazed. And I’m finding that the fear I feel is slowly being replaced with a deep trust that He is walking this path before us and will meet our every need.</div>
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These last couple of weeks, our little family has been passing around a nasty head/chest cold. We’ve all had it, and I spent at least two nights sleeping with Cora as she coughed her way through the night. As I held her, I thought of Alea… I know what winters in orphanages are like. Sickness abounds and no one is immune. But there are no mamas to cuddle; not enough hands to go around. It was a quiet little ache that settled deep in my heart—I couldn’t be there to comfort her. I didn’t say anything to anyone about it, but I couldn’t shake the sadness and I prayed for her to be well and be comforted if she felt ill. Two days ago I got a letter from a friend who had recently visited her orphanage and was able to see Alea for a few minutes and talk to her caregivers. His e-mail was only a few sentences long, but one line said all I needed to know. “Good news is she was good in this month. Lots of kids had a cold, but she is fine.”<br />
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God is so kind. He heard the prayers of my heart and answered them in an e-mail from a friend. Deep peace settled in my heart, and I was reminded that this journey we’re on is in His able hands and that all the things we might face in 2014 will be encountered under the umbrella of His grace and mercy and provision and love. We may feel woefully inadequate for the road ahead, but He is our strength when we are weak. He is in us and He is sufficient, and therefore so are we. <br />
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Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-52138583614339902192013-11-12T20:55:00.000-06:002013-11-12T21:15:01.100-06:00Stitching You Into My Heart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dear Alea Hope,</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I missed your first birthday, but I didn’t forget it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made you a quilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In some ways, I think it’d be more honest to
say I made me a quilt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because there is
something about the act of making something for someone I care about that
builds love in my heart, and as I stitched it together, I prayed for the
foundations of love to be laid, brick by brick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our journey to you wasn’t quite what I expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I anticipated some sort of lightning
bolt moment when I first saw your picture… a powerful force to take me over; leaving
me knowing, with every ounce of my being, that you are my daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some, I know it happens in just that way,
but when I look at the little picture we have of you… staring so intently into
the camera 6 months ago… I confess that right now I see a beautiful baby that I
don’t really know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so I’m choosing to stitch you into my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Piece by piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard, if I’m being honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get a few stitches in, and then I’m
overcome with fear and it seems I need to tear some out, back up, and start
over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be perfectly frank, I’m not
that good at sewing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I think it’s OK
that it’s hard for me, because I think it will be hard for you to stitch me
into your heart too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, in a few
months when we meet in that government building in central China, you’ll be
handed to a stranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you come to
me with this quilt that I’m sending you… I hope you come with something that is
familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I know you’ll be leaving
behind all that is comfortable and sure, thrust into the arms of a woman and
man that you don’t know yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll be
told that we are your mama and baba; but sweet girl, you don’t even know what
that means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve probably never even seen
that relationship demonstrated before your own eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t think that choosing to stitch you into my heart
means I love you any less than if I’d had that “lightning bolt” moment of
perfect assurance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://loveiswhatyoudo.com/2013/11/07/adoption-as-an-arranged-marriage-part-1/">My friend Jessica said it well… the best metaphor for adoption is an arranged marriage</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe something Holy and Sacred happens
when we choose to walk into a commitment without knowing fully what it will
entail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t believe it will be easy,
but I do believe God will be Emmanuel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He will be With Us, making the seams straight and tight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I trust that someday I will look back and
not be able to see the stitch marks of where you were tied into my heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our adoption agency says we should travel to get you in the
Spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put the cherry tree fabric in
the quilt because it reminds me of your beautiful country in the
springtime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m coming to get you when
the trees are blooming; when new life is beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know what it’s like in the place where you’re
waiting, so of course I want you here yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I know that God will use these next few
months to root you down into my heart more deeply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need that, more than anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need the courage that comes with love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need Perfect Love that casts out all fear,
because sometimes I think of all that we know – or maybe all that we don’t know
– about you, and I wonder what would happen if you had far more severe needs
than we anticipate or if we just couldn’t get in-step in the attachment dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What if… what if… what if… <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then I think of you… a sweet little girl who doesn’t
even have a choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I’m not very
good at sewing, and I meant it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My lines
aren’t straight, and there were a couple of times where the pieces didn’t fit
together as they should.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I missed a few
spots, on occasion, and had to rip things out and start again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention I don’t sew straight? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or that the quilt is 3 inches narrower than it
should be, because I didn’t have the patience to repair my mistakes properly
and instead cut off whole sections of the fabric to start afresh? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not perfect -- something your big sister, at the grand age of 3, already knows full well -- but you don’t get to review
our file and decide if this is the family for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an arranged marriage, and neither one of
us gets the chance to back out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I want
to win your heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I know the first step to that is to have
you rooted so deeply in my heart that love looks like Cherry tree blossoms in
the Chinese springtime.</span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know you might not be getting much attention right
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It isn’t that I don’t think the
people caring for you don’t care… but there are 900 little ones in your
orphanage, I hear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could any baby
get what she needs in such a place?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
want to DO something, but there’s very little I can do, so I chose fabrics for
their different textures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is
corduroy, with its soft ridges, and the bumpy seams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chose the softest fabric I could find to be
my hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve held the blanket close and
carried it around with me these last few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Last night I walked in the front door holding it in my hands and had
this mental picture of walking in the front door with it in about 6 months,
having just run out to get it because you left it in the car… oh how I pray you
get this, sweet girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, how I pray you
feel my love in the softness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s called a rag quilt because the edges are cut so that
they’ll fray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was nervous taking
scissors to the first quilt I ever made, and I spent at least two hours clipping
nicks into the edges while talking with my friend LynnAnne and watching her
little boy (who is your age, by the way) scamper around her living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hurts to make cuts in a quilt you just
made, but even more so in our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know leaving the orphanage isn’t going to be easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know it isn’t a good place for a child to
be, but it’s the only place you’ve known… and cutting that out of your life is
going to be painful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve already had
far too many cuts for a 1-year-old baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In 8 days, you’ll have been in the orphanage 1 year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a terrible anniversary to have, but it
will mark the day that the worst cut of all happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in a few more months we’ll be cutting
your food, language, the smells and sounds of your land… all those little snips
hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know a little bit about those
kinds of cuts, because I still long for your homeland some mornings myself… But
you know what I found after I washed the quilt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All those edges frayed and turned into something beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The colors blended together and became
something new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baby, I know the cuts are
going to hurt, but you have my word that I will hold you close while the edges
fray… and we will keep taking steps towards making something new every
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be beautiful someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, we both know the cuts will always
be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t pretend that they will
ever go away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it will be beautiful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My friend Billy took pictures of me, your daddy, and your
big sister a few weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will
probably be the last family picture without you in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure she’ll take new ones of us when you
come home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we took it for you,
sweetheart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted the pictures to be
right in front of you… wrapped around you at night when you sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know you’re still so very little; you may
not understand any of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But maybe,
just maybe, my prayers will be answered and you’ll spend the next several
months with this quilt in your crib… and maybe, just maybe, when you meet us,
we will feel a little bit familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After all, we’re family.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Love,</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mama</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></div>
<br /></div>
Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-102869433441135732013-10-01T15:48:00.000-05:002013-10-01T15:48:14.751-05:00Tap, Tap... Can anyone hear me?I'm not sure if anyone is still here... after all, blogger is reminding me that the last time I published something was February 26, 2013. For someone who loves to write, that's a bit absurd.<br />
<br />
Phew... no excuses - except busy-ness. Busy with my beautiful whirlwind of a daughter. Busy with adoption (!!) paperwork. Busy with <a href="http://www.scarletthreads.org/">Scarlet Threads</a>. Not so busy that I don't have time to sit down and read a good book to my favorite little girl, but busy enough that I fail to write as often as I'd like.<br />
<br />
But then Stefanie from <a href="http://nihaoyall.com/">Ni Hao Yall</a> asked if I would write through our adoption journey for <a href="http://www.nohandsbutours.com/">No Hands But Ours</a>. And my fingers have been itching to write, and I knew if I had a deadline it would be more likely to happen... so I said yes.<br />
<br />
And... you can find my first post over there today.<br />
<br />
--------<br />
<br />
<em>I’ve loved rain for as long as I can remember. Growing up in the drought-struck Panhandle of Texas in a family intimately tied to agriculture (which is intimately tied to annual rainfall), rain was like our manna… necessary for our survival. Except it didn’t come every day.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>One of my earliest memories is of praying. Staring out the window of our small trailer, feeling the worry and stress of the adults, I prayed for rain to fill the deep cracks splitting open the soil. I was only 3.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>And, predictably, my next earliest memory is of bargaining with God.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<a href="http://www.nohandsbutours.com/2013/10/01/rain/">Keep reading...</a>Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-77662409165803673252013-02-26T09:56:00.000-06:002013-02-26T10:02:42.067-06:00Neither Male nor Female<div style="text-align: center;">
I decided to do something I haven't done before... I'm participating in a blog link-up. Check out the other contributions to <a href="http://loveiswhatyoudo.com/2013/02/26/feminisms-and-me-femfest-link-up-day-1/">Feminisms and Me</a>...
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>For you are all one in Christ Jesus.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>Galations 3:28, NLT</em></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was a little girl, I had a t-shirt with “First
Woman President” emblazoned next to a drawing of a confident-looking Lucy, the
little girl from Charlie Brown.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wore that shirt threadbare, secretly believing that on my scrawny
frame, it might just be proclaiming truth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just now as I sat down to write this, I couldn’t remember
Lucy’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A quick search of Charlie
Brown characters led me to my answer on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Peanuts_characters">Wikipedia</a>, but the description of Lucy’s
character gave me pause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It succinctly sums
up my early-girlhood perception of strong women, the kind of feminist-in-training
girls who believed they could be president.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lucy is a “bossy, crabby” girl, reports Wikipedia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bossy and Crabby. That’s what I thought I would be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a little odd… I’ve always been confident,
believing that I could do anything I set my mind to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at the same time, I’ve always been at war
against what kind of a woman that would make me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to be mean, crabby, and bossy, but
in my small, Bible-belt community, I didn’t see examples of women in
non-traditional roles who weren’t smothered with negative stereotypes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love my mama dearly, but from the time she
was a high school student, she proclaimed her lifelong aspiration was
to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, supporting her family from behind the
scenes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And her unique embodiment of
her desire resulted in a relationship that at least from the outside looked
to have absolute deference to my father. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not think her path was less or more valuable
than other ways women support their families, but the fact of the matter was,
it was the only example of womanhood I saw in my immediate family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a little girl, whether by intent or routine, my childhood church said the main way women could serve in the church was by keeping nursery
or teaching children’s Sunday School; I don't remember women offering the communion devotional (something done by members of the congregation) or even passing the trays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only female professionals I saw were
teachers, and if women worked, the general social assumption was that it was an
unfortunate reality for families who didn’t have what they needed financially
in order for the woman to stay home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Working women – especially working mothers – were pitied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It didn’t get better in high school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jacob and I were best friends in High School
and started dating when I was a senior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I cried and cried the day we decided to finally turn the friendship into
something more serious… I only said yes to dating him because I didn’t want to
lose Jacob, and at the time it seemed the options on the table were to
seriously date or go our separate ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I remember sobbing to my girlfriends that I didn’t want a boyfriend
because I didn’t want him to “hold me back.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was my first boyfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
this vague memory of my dad being relieved I finally consented to dating a
boy because it would “soften” me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>So I was the little
girl who grew up wanting to be strong, but thinking that was a bad thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>T</strong>he little girl who thought there were two
dirty words that started with F – One with 4 letters, and one spelled f-e-m-i-n-i-s-t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be honest I’ve lived with this tension and confusion for
30 years, feeling like my drive and determination and opinions were generally unfit for my gender... and if I just kept trying
hard enough, maybe eventually I’d be a better woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I didn’t have slightly
rebellious tendencies, I’d probably have given up on the idea that a woman of faith could do anything other than quietly submit to our local cultural
expectations of what it means to be a “Good Christian Woman” and joined the ranks of those who thought
anyone who talked about women’s rights or liberation was a bra-burning,
man-hating, children-scorning degradation of God’s perfect plan for the
daughters of Eve.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Motherhood has changed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Which is ironic, because currently I'm a stay-at-home mama in conservative West
Texas who is thankful for the opportunity to be with my little one day in and day out.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>But I think becoming a mama to a little girl has made me
more of a feminist than I ever was, and I no longer think I’m being rebellious
or foolish or bossy or crabby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not being
Lucy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m being Carrie.</strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">God has given me a daughter, and I believe in the unique
power of her femininity. And through that experience, I am starting to see the
truth that’s always been within myself… that I’m a daughter of the King,
uniquely equipped for ministry in this broken world – not crippled by my
femininity, but rather strengthened by it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My conservative community may have suggested feminists were brazen
and aggressive, but now I see my strength isn’t in my brazenness, but it
isn’t in my silence either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My strength
isn’t in my aggression, but it isn’t in my submission either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>My strength is in knowing that I have been
called for a purpose in His Kingdom… following in His footsteps, I’m to bind up
the brokenhearted, and as I’ve become a mama, I think I’m better equipped for
that than ever before</strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The callings God
has given me… a passion for justice, a heart for the refugee, a burden for orphans,
a seer of good things in those who think they are worthless – those have a
place at the Table, and the fact that I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m less
equipped to meet them than my male counterpart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We talk about the Father’s power and strength and
glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the gifts He’s given me come
straight from His heart too… gentleness, compassion, mercy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These aren’t distinctly masculine vs.
feminine traits; please don’t think that I’m saying all men are powerful and
strong and all women are compassionate and gentle. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in a Christian culture that
elevates certain virtues as “manly” and certain virtues as “feminine,” and then
proceeds to tell women that their virtues can be best expressed (some would say
only expressed) behind closed doors in the service of their families and as
their husband’s “help mates,” is it any surprise that the dominant image of the
Christian community as perceived by outsiders is one of dominance, power, and unyielding
authority?</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Undoubtedly this world needs to know the Father’s
Heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in a culture where His people
are often seen as harsh and cold, judgmental and stoic, and in a generation
where that mirrors the way many fathers treated their children, is it any
wonder that we have such misconceptions about what His heart may look
like?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it is time that we know the
Father’s<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mama-Heart, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as I look around at a new generation of
women – confident in the gifts God has given them, and bearing light and
love in their homes, communities, and worlds, I’m beginning to see new currents
of compassion, grace, mercy and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gentleness
come alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s always been a part of
His heart, but when mama-hearted-women step into their calling, I believe it unveils
the Father in new and vibrant ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I want to be a part of this unveiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
want my little girl to always see Him -- and herself -- clearly. We’ve
choosen a female pediatrician and we’re going to a church with women on the
pastoral staff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve wanted these things
for her because I want her to see examples of strong women in all walks of life
from her earliest days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want her to discover
her calling and not see her gender as a help or hindrance to achieving it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want her to elevate or denigrate her (or
anyone else’s) potential and purpose based on their gender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to tell her that yes, she can be
president someday (actually, she can’t – she was born in China), but she can do
it with compassion and grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She doesn’t
have to be bossy and crabby – that isn’t what being a Daughter of the King
looks like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That isn’t what being a feminist
looks like… You know, maybe in the end, she won’t even need to be a feminist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe she can just be what we’re all supposed to be… a Child
of God, uniquely equipped and called to unleash love in a broken world. </span></div>
Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-44415303664687541012013-01-30T09:00:00.000-06:002013-01-30T09:00:01.600-06:00Into the WindSweet Girl,<br />
<br />
Sometimes it seems the world is all black and gray and harsh. Sort of like this windy West Texas day we had today - dirt blows in your eyes and you can't see clearly. It stings when it hits your skin. But you laughed, didn't you? You laughed when the wind nearly knocked you over. You squinted your eyes to block out the grime, and you smiled wide and laughed at its blustery gall. <br />
<br />
That's what I always want for you. When the world is black and gray and blowing dirt and grime into your face, I want to see your brave, beautiful smile. I want to see you square your shoulders and walk head-on into the wind, trusting in the power of Love to root you down. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I listen to the stories on the news and my heart sinks as I think about the world you are inheriting. Violence as entertainment, death in every leading news story, guns in elementary schools, debt that boggles the mind, people selling their babies, women trafficked into unspeakable horror, wars and rumors of war... I look at you and wonder how can I help you navigate this troubled world? How can I help you become a ferociously wild lover of people? An unstoppable bearer of grace? <em> Am I really willing to tell you that you should risk all for the sake of Love?</em><br />
<br />
There's not much I know for sure. In fact, the older I get, the less I think I'm truly certain of. Life is too complex. There are no easy answers to the hardest of questions, and I don't want to give easy answers to you. "You get what you deserve." <em>(Except when you are born a woman in most of the world, then you get endless sorrows.)</em> "Jesus has a beautiful plan for our futures." <em> (Except for the Somalian baby who dies tonight of hunger.)</em> No, these answers don't hold water in a world as broken as ours. The only thing I know for sure -- really the only thing you need to ever know -- is that God loves you fiercely, ferociously, wildly. Just like He loves all His children all over the world, including the ones in Syrian refugee camps and Afghani women's prisons. <br />
<br />
There is a lot of blackness and harshness. A lot of evil. But that's where we come in, little one. We are Kingdom-Bearers. We are Love Warriors. We are Peace Spreaders. We are the hands and the feet; the bringers of Good News. Some might say we have bleeding-hearts, but child, those are the strongest hearts of all. Someday you'll probably hear that God leaves some of his creation to destruction, a rightful fate for a rebellious and stiff-necked people. Sweetheart, <a href="http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/scandal-evangelical-heart">that is not the God that I know</a>. I know a Father who seeks out each of his children, from every tribe and every nation... When they weep, he weeps. When they rejoice, he rejoices. He loves them as fiercely, ferociously, and wildly as he loves you. And he's given us a singular task: to spread the good news with our love. <br />
<br />
It's going to require bravery, little one. More bravery of you than I think I can bear. I'm a mama, so of course I want you to be safe and comfortable. But really, I just want you to love with abandon, even if that might mean that your life takes you down a dangerous, dirty road. When that wind starts blowing and the dust starts flying, lean in to your Abba. His arms - like your Daddy's - are strong and able to carry you through the storm. When you aren't sure of anything else, just hug him. It's enough, I promise. <br />
<br />
Just follow him, sweet girl. He only asks us to follow.<br />
<br />
Love, Mama<br />
<br />
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Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-33606964811986949342013-01-29T17:57:00.005-06:002013-01-29T17:57:44.995-06:00Awake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's been a while since I sat down at these keys. <em>How do mamas find the time to write?</em> Just when my mind is finally quiet enough to find it's voice, she comes in with a new request. Another day dawns, another day closes. Laundry piles sorted, washed, folded, put away. Dishes scrubbed, dried, scrubbed again. But no real chance to find my voice... sigh.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about 2013. I haven't forgotten about my Word of the Year, and though it is really didn't take me 29 days to find it, it has taken me 29 days to type it out. <br />
<br />
I want to be <strong>awake</strong> in 2013.<br />
<br />
<strong>Awake</strong> to the sound of her laughter, and the way her front tooth juts ever-so-slightly in front of its neighbor to make room for new ones coming in. These days are short. A new mark on the height board and a couple more pounds make my arms ache. She's literally changing before my very eyes. I don't want to miss it because I'm distracted by Facebook or a text from a friend. <br />
<br />
<strong>Awake</strong> to the sound of the mourning doves, soothing song mixing with the twinkle of the neighbor's wind chimes drift in through the open door. I want to make this home of mine a place of comfort and rest for all who enter. The world can be an angry and frightening place, but my home can be a refuge... a haven on Blue Haven. I want guests to feel peaceful, joyful, and hopeful. I want to be intentional in welcoming people to my table and making them feel at home.<br />
<br />
<strong>Awake</strong> to my husband. Intentional about loving him. Intentional about serving him... not because I'm trying harder to submit, but because I want to love him more. Because I'm thankful for the ways he serves us. How thankful I am that he's a Dada who comes home as soon as his work is done. Who wrestles on the floor with our daughter and who cleans up the dishes after dinner. He is so good to us; we are so blessed. I want to show him how deeply he's loved.<br />
<br />
<strong>Awake</strong> to my neighbors. The woman bagging my groceries is from Iraq. The woman rolling the sushi is from Burma. Their stories are invisible behind their mundane jobs, and sometimes I confess I hardly notice them at all... but what journey have they been on to bring them to this dusty West Texas desert? Are they lonely? Are they confused by this odd culture of ours? Do they need a friend? How many times have I failed to see them in a hurried effort to get the next "To Do" checked off my list? I want to wake up and welcome the stranger in my midst.<br />
<br />
<strong>Awake</strong> to my world. I am slowly realizing that I can be the mama Cora needs me to be, the wife Jacob deserves me to be, and the woman God made me to be. One doesn't need to be shelved to achieve the other. I realize I might not be able to move to sub-Saharan Africa with the Peace Corps in this season of my life, but I can find ways to be a bearer of good news to this crazy-beautiful-broken world. I see opportunities all around... for Scarlet Threads to grow and flourish in Asia, for opportunities to partner with my friend in Uganda, to work with the women right down the street. I want Cora to know a big, big world and have a heart for all God's people, and for her to have that, she needs to see it come alive in her mama.<br />
<br />
This life is so short. It is wild and precious. I don't want to sleep through the beauty or the heartache. I'm going to wake up.Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-60112677183256782013-01-02T07:54:00.002-06:002013-01-02T07:54:27.303-06:00The Year OfI wrote something last year I never shared... too personal, too deep, too raw. But I went back to it today and read it. I'm in a different place now, so I'm ready to share now, albiet slightly edited to remove the more personal details...<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="http://www.letwhylead.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/open-road.jpg">Image Credit</a></i></span></div>
<br />
<b>First written in January 2012:</b><br />
<br />
<i>In recent years, I'm a namer.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>2010, The year of
contentment. (Heh. Never achieved.) 2011, The year of change. (That's
an understatement.) And now, in the dawn of 2012 I find myself
wondering what I should name this gift of time. Fleeting, fast, and
precious - I want to claim it as my own, and so I seek a name. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Transformation.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>That's the word in my heart these last few days…</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's
a painful word. And its a word I'd rather avoid. I'd like to name
2012 the year of settling. Or rest. But to be honest, those don't
reflect the journey I know my heart needs to take… a journey that I know
will lead to a deeper trust and peace. A journey that will lead to my
own healing and the cessation of certain 'patterns of the heart' that I
do not want passed on to my daughter. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>Why transformation? What needs to be transformed? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Many
things, but at the core, I need my picture of God transformed. I need
to believe in the core of my being that He is good, kind, generous and
capable - TO ME. Not just to others, for that seems obvious enough even
to my own broken heart. I say I believe those things, but like
everyone, my picture of God is colored by my experience… and in the
story of my life, in ways most people may never see, that hasn't been
the God I've seen since I was a young girl. I'm not saying He hasn't
been good and kind to me. I'm not saying he isn't generous in his mercy
and love or capable in his ability to work out impossible situations.
I'm just saying that in the places closest to my heart, in my most
vulnerable areas, that hasn't been the obvious picture to me. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And so what I say I believe and what I feel in my heart to be true are two very different things. I can't be the only one living with this dichotomy?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Transformation.
In short, I want the God of my head to be the God of my heart. And I
want Him to blow my boxes and limitations and preconceived notions out
of the water. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm a little scared and a little (lot?)
angry and a little tired and a little despairing… but finally, oh
finally, I am a little hopeful. </i><br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
Why am I sharing it now? Because He is faithful to
transform. I'm not "there" yet, but I'm in a wholly different place
today than I was one year ago. I feel freed -- unchained...
unshackled... able to see more clearly than ever before that God
treasures me. I know I have value, and that what makes me feel happy
and peaceful matters as much as it does for anyone else. I'm not as
controlling as I was a year ago, and I'm certainly not as angry. <br />
<br />
I am transformed.<br />
<br />
I
haven't yet come up with the word for 2013, but I feel in my bones that
it's going to be a good one... Have you? Would love to hear it if you
have.Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-67111166556239702972012-12-31T23:46:00.002-06:002012-12-31T23:49:04.788-06:00Top 12 of 2012Sitting here in my comfy pants with a bubbly glass of champagne pondering the fact that there are only 50 brief moments left in 2012. And, if the bubbly hasn't gone to my head too much and I'm doing my math properly, 525,550 precious moments spent up. (More than a few of them, I must admit, spent on episodes of Modern Family and perusing Facebook.)<br />
<br />
I wanted to end 2012 with my own personal list of the Top 12 of 2012. These are more in a chronological order, as opposed to any kind of order of importance.<br />
<br />
1: <a href="http://jacobandcarrie.blogspot.com/2012_01_01_archive.html">Cora's first birthday.</a><br />
We celebrated with a simple cake and some pizza and salad with our Russian friends. I was a bit meloncholy to think of my sweet baby growing up, but she was plunging headfirst into toddlerhood.<br />
<br />
2: Buying our first home.<br />
In a city where the houses are sometimes on the market for only a few hours, buying a home isn't for the faint of heart, but we had an awesome realtor with lots of patience, and our 8+ month search finally yielded the perfect little place for our family to sink some roots. I even love the name of the street, and the neighbors don't get any better.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
3: Picking berries with my grandma.<br />
I'm so thankful I still have 3 of my grandparents, and that there health is good. Seeing Cora with them is priceless; getting to soak of up their stories, wisdom, and wit is a gift. Picking berries together? The icing on the cake.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
4: Incredible new friends.<br />
The kind who are deep and real and funny and raw and wouldn't
hesitate to bend over backwards to do what they could to help each other. I <a href="http://jacobandcarrie.blogspot.com/2011/05/holy-misery.html">cried when I moved here</a>. But I know that I'd cry even harder if we leave.<br />
<br />
5: Watching the <a href="http://jacobandcarrie.blogspot.com/2012/04/waves.html">waves tickle Cora's toes</a>.<br />
What started as a simple break in Jacob's insane travel schedule turned into a family vacation memory I won't forget. The aquarium, the waves, and the simple flavor of seafood on a hot summer evening with an ocean breeze heavy in the air; her blonde curls heavy with the salty air.<br />
<br />
6: The stars at night over Ft. Davis and the cool relief of Balmorhea Springs.<br />
Another quick-escape-turned-memory... I learned to see the beauty in rugged West Texas on this trip... and realized that while I might not always live here, its wildness and freedom speak to my soul. No matter where I might live, I think I am a Texan through and through.<br />
<br />
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<br />
7: My <a href="http://jacobandcarrie.blogspot.com/2011/08/full-heart.html">"other Cora" coming home from China</a> with her adoptive family. Finally, finally home.<br />
I've loved her since she was a toddler. To see her with her family now is an answered prayer. That her family is friends of ours? More icing on the cake.<br />
<br />
8: The unexpected success of <a href="http://www.scarletthreads.org/">Scarlet Threads</a> this year.<br />
Wow. All I can say is wow. I love that it is turning into a legit little operation and not just a hobby of mine. I can't wait to see where it goes in the coming years.<br />
<br />
9: Taking Cora to China.<br />
It was scary and I was brave and it was all so very worth it. I'd do it again, but this time I'd make arrangements to have some help with the jetlag. :)<br />
<br />
10: Holding Grace's sweet baby.<br />
And having the amazing honor of picking
out an English name for sweet baby YiYi. (May I introduce you to
perfect little Eve?)<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
11: Having my sweet pup return after a 5 hour absence.<br />
My heart broke at the thought of our little LeLe gone forever, in a strange town and on the eve of a bitterly cold snowstorm. The sound of Jacob excitingly telling me to come see who had come home is probably one of the best moments of the year. <br />
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<br />
12: A peaceful Christmas.<br />
Last year was hard. But 2012 brought a lot of transformation and healing in my own life and in the lives of those I love the most. And this year was a beautiful example of things changing. Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-90495030830463727822012-11-27T06:01:00.001-06:002012-11-27T06:01:26.388-06:00There and Here: Thankful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Coffee steaming and that bright nighttime moon moving towards my friends on the other side of the world, I sit here in my living room simply thankful.<br />
<br />
How fitting that we went over Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
I'm exhausted and stretched thin, staring at piles of <a href="http://www.scarletthreads.org/wired-hearts.html">Christmas Ornaments</a> in my living room floor, but I'm joyfully thankful. Thankful that my feet can be planted on the ground either here or there and I can be fully present in the moment... savoring it for what it is and soaking in the beauty.<br />
<br />
I was so scared to go. <i>What if I loved it and didn't want to go home? What if I hated it and couldn't wait to get home? </i>Fundamentally both were fears of not being able to be fully present in the moment - living in either the past or the future... joy-stealers.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't like that at all. I ate a steaming plate of <i>baozi</i> and enjoyed every bite. I watched my little girl clamor up the great wall, blonde curls blowing in a breeze. She shared my lap with a love-hungry little boy, who scooted up to me on his bottom from across the room, and they both laughed. I held one of my dearest friends' newborn babies, remembering the day almost two years ago when she held my sweet girl a few hours fresh. I sat with a friend over a cup of hot coffee, talking about what it means to love Jesus and love others and have peace no matter the circumstances. I found a discarded piece of the village to bring home with me. (It will fit perfectly in that spot on the kitchen wall, reminding me of ancient ruins restored to places of life and beauty in the broken.) I listened to my joy-FULL daughter delightedly calling out ShuShu to all the kind uncles (and aunts) she met and saw big smiles spread across surprised faces. I enjoyed <i>jiaozi</i> made by my favorite <i>jiaozi</i> maker in all of China. I worked with the seamstress to design new products (with my sister-in-law and childhood best friend) while Cora played in the seamstress' living room with her granddaughter, happily munching on an apple and watching Chinese TV. I had lunch with my oldest Chinese friends and her family, marveling at how easy it is to pick up where you leave off.<br />
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It was hard and exhausting and stressful at times, but it was so very good. And this time, when I left China, I didn't leave with tears. I looked forward to my cozy little home, seeing my sweet girl reunited with her Dada, petting my very own village mutt, and of course, sleeping in my own bed. I left thankful.<br />
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I may never be able to be in both places at once... <b><i>but for the first time in two years, I know my heart can be split and it doesn't have to break. </i></b><br />
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<br />Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7295309110117449262.post-15777722497949490412012-11-11T21:52:00.000-06:002012-11-11T21:52:01.378-06:00I'm Going Back (And Why I'm Taking My 22 Month Old.)I can't believe I'm typing that. In 4 days, I will be somewhere over the Pacific... daughter (hopefully) sleeping in my arms. <br />
<br />
We are going back to China.<br />
<br />
I'm excited and terrified all at the same time. The terror has everything to do with taking my almost 2-year-old daughter to the other side of the world, and dealing with jetlag and all that loveliness, not to mention the travel time itself with an almost-two-year-old on my lap.<br />
<br />
But I'm so excited...<br />
<br />
Excited to see friends.<br />
To hold babies.<br />
To play ring-around-the-rosie with a ragtag group of toddlers.<br />
To chat with the nannies and listen to them tell me I'm too skinny.<br />
To see my daughter sitting at the preschool table with all her little brothers and sisters of the heart... a dream I've had in my mind's eye since before I ever knew my daughter's face.<br />
To see her blonde hair in a sea of black. (Prayers for patience and grace, please, on our behalf as we deal with countless people wanting to touch her hair.)<br />
To sit around a steaming plate of jiaozi at the restaurant just across the bridge.<br />
To just eat, really.<br />
To see our ayi and see her face when she sees how big Cora is.<br />
To hug Alison and Wendong and Jerry and Jessica.<br />
To travel with my sister-in-law and get to know her even better.<br />
To eat bags of fresh mandarin oranges, the little tiny ones... the kind you can only get in a can here.<br />
To walk the aisles of the fabric market.<br />
To stay up late talking with my best friend from high school, who is coming with her little girls from Indonesia.<br />
To walk into the village with Ricky.<br />
To hold my friend Grace's new baby - or to rub her pregnant belly... whichever the case may be.<br />
To hear Chinese all around me.<br />
To work on new products with Deng Jia and meet her granddaughter.<br />
<br />
It's all too much for me, almost... my anticipation, my fear... to be honest, I've been so preoccupied with the ever-present question <i>How Will Cora Do?</i> that I've failed to really think about the trip. It's like all I can picture is 10 days with a disoriented and exhausted daughter. Fun stuff. But every now and then I stop and really think about it. <br />
<br />
Back in my pre-living-in-China days, I anticipated my "foreign mission trips" with such utter excitement that I could hardly see straight. I would wonder how the trip would "change me" for weeks before I left, and to be honest it was rarely in ways that I could anticipate. But this is different. (Now my whole opinion on "mission trips" has substantially changed... but that's a whole 'nother post.)<br />
<br />
But this feels more like going home. And I'm glad for that. I'm glad there isn't a big agenda or some impact I plan to have while there. (And that's partially because I know now that the impact we have is usually quite paltry in comparison to the impact made on us, but mostly just because it feels like going home... and you don't think about "your impact" when you're going home to see your family.) So all that to say, this trip feels very different than trips I've made in the past.<br />
<br />
Which leaves me really wondering what it will actually be like. What's it going to feel like snuggling a little orphan baby now that I'm a mama? (I don't count my one month with them after Cora was born and before we came home; I was too disoriented and confused to know what I felt about anything at that time.) What's it going to feel like having my little girl in a land where there are no car seats and you can't drink the water? (Stuff like that never bothered me before, but now I'm a mama and we mamas, well, we like to worry.) Now that I have a cozy and comfortable little life here in America, what's it going to feel like to be back in the raw and gritty world of rural China? Will the heat be on when we get there?<br />
<br />
Sometimes when people hear I'm taking Cora back with me, eyes widen and jaws drop. And believe me, I've thought about all the ways this could be a bad idea. It's what I dwell on 90% of the time. So why do it? The surface reason is that I can't be away from her for that long yet... period. End of discussion. (And that if my friends couldn't see her again, they might not consider me a friend anymore.) <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But the deeper reason is that I want her to grow up never remembering a time that she didn't know what it was like to have a heart stretched by the things that really matter. </i> Not that she's gotta be my mini me and share all the same passions... but I want playing on the playground with a little girl who doesn't have a mama to be something she's known from her earliest day. I want her to feel comfortable diving into a plate of food she can't name even if the surroundings would raise some eyebrows at the health department. I want being in a sea of people who don't look or sound like her to feel natural to her. I want her to know that just because we are separated by an ocean, and a million smaller things, these people are no less her brothers and sisters... that they deserve her respect, her honor, her compassion, her friendship, her love.<br />
<br />
Even though it is unspeakably hard sometimes, I want her to always know what it is like to love two worlds.<br />
<br />
(Please note: This is my idealistic pre-trip post. Please pray that this is exactly what it turns out to be. But be prepared for a post-trip "I will never do that again/what was I thinking" post.)Carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04034200516625588607noreply@blogger.com9