Love Wins

In light of the Supreme Court’s upcoming decision on marriage equality, I’ve wondered if I should/would address the issue at all on my blog. There are enough voices clanging through the interwebs and I’m not a fan of noisy blogging.

That said, I read an article today that really speaks to how I feel about the issue at hand and I thought I’d share it here. I hope we can have respectful dialogue…if you want to have dialogue at all about the issue. Maybe you’re done dialoging. In that case, just leave a comment and tell me your favorite Easter candy.

Either way, let’s remember that above all else, love wins. Love is the thing that always, always wins. It’s also important to remember that disagreement does not indicate a lack of love. 

There is no law that says we must all agree with one another in order to love one another well.

 

This is an issue without an easy answer, as much as many people want it to seem easy. But healthy, open dialogue is always a step in the right direction. No matter what the Supreme Court decides, I pray we can all remember that love wins.

And my favorite Easter Candies are those Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups shaped like Easter Eggs.

*wink*

The Article: How Might Christians Respond To The Question of Homosexual Marriage?

On writing and grief and finishing that book

I finished my initial read through of the book last night. My first reaction? Thank God it’s not too bad. I’ve never done this whole writing a 450 page novel thing. This is my first rodeo, so I didn’t know what to expect. Couple that with the fact that it’s been almost three years since I started this draft of the book and you have a writer who’s a bit nervous.

I wrote the beginning of the book a long, long time before I wrote The End. What if it didn’t connect?

Now admittedly, there are a few gaps to be worked out and the ending needs some sharpening. I wanted to finish so badly that my fingers were literally flying over the keyboard. It took me a little over two years to write the first 150 pages of that books. It took me just shy of 9 months to write the final 300 pages.

The story finally came tumbling out.

In a lot of ways, the book writing process very much mirrors a birth process. Only, honestly, I think it’s mentally and emotionally harder to write a book than have a baby.

I am connected to this story in a way that no one else will ever really understand. The characters became real to me. I dream about them at night. I hear their voices in my head. It all sounds so strange, but it’s not unlike the connection I felt to my unborn children.

I knew them before I saw them. I dreamed of them. I was connected to them in a way no one else could be, because they were a part of me.

Parts of my story are connected to this story. I used to feel a little ashamed and embarrassed about how long it took me to write this book, but I realized in the last week as I read through it that I needed to take that time. There are parts of this story that I could not have written if I hadn’t had the experiences I had.

I needed to experience childbirth and motherhood.

I needed to experience the heartache of losing the hope of a child.

I needed to experience the darkness of depression.

Friends, the last few months have been very, very hard. I’ve tried not to overdo the drama of it all on the blog, but I have not been in a good place. I am always right on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Most of the people who see me on a regular basis know this all too well as I basically cry at the drop of a hat.

In truth, I hardly remember the month of January. It’s as though that entire month has been blocked from my subconscious. I have never felt more alone or experienced a deeper pain than I did in that month. I couldn’t eat, I was in a constant state of fatigue and I lived from moment to moment in a fog of emotional pain.

Feburary is a bit brighter, but the memory of that month is shrouded in fog. That was the month I began to process my heartache – to share it and open up about the depths of the pain I felt.

March has been a little better, but the wound is still fresh and the grief can be set off at any moment.

And in these two and a half months since grief crashed down on me, I’ve written 175 pages. The words poured out and they became cathartic and brought about healing in an almost beautiful way. I transferred my grief to my characters, people who were experiencing a darkness much deeper than my own.

I don’t know if I wrote the story well, but I do know that writing the story helped me heal.

Writing a book requires that you pour your heart out. It’s hard and long and arduous and painful, but in the end, a sort of life is birthed from the process. Your hard work produces a miracle. A piece of you is transferred to the outside and you have a tangible evidence of the labor and pain.

It is, indeed, like the birth of a baby…if you were birthing a baby while running a marathon and spinning plates on a long, tall stick. The metaphor gets convoluted – roll with it.

I’ve passed my book out to my first round of test readers. I have several people lined up waiting to read it and I’m both excited and terrified. I know it needs work, but I also believe in the potential of the story. There are edits to comb through and rewrites to prepare for. There are holes to fill and there’s probably more research to be done.

(Oh sweet mercy, how I hate research. Can I just take a brief moment to tell you how many times I wished I had been given something easier to write about? Why couldn’t I just make up my world and my people? Historical fiction?! Oy…)

But all of that is okay, because there is still room for healing in my heart. The world isn’t dark and lonely anymore, thanks to a few people who have stepped up beside me and begun walking through the grief with me, and also thanks to the process of pouring my heart out to the story that I was given.

I needed to write this story at this time – to give birth to the characters in this way. Soon I pray I will have the opportunity to introduce this book to the world, but for now I covet your prayers as I begin editing. I long to present a book of excellence – a story that brings honor not to my name, but to the God who entrusted me with these stories.

Will you pray with me?

Bearing with one another

There is a lot of talk these days about social media, technology and the effect that it will have on our children. They are the first generation to grow up under a microscope and with the world at their fingertips, it’s a legimite dialogue. How do we keep our children engaged in real life? How do we teach them to utilize technology to their favor and not to their disadvantage?

How do we show them that the world is real and yet still give them all the tools of expansion that technology provides?

It’s a constant battle and our children will have to learn to navigate life in a way that most of us who grew up without the internet, blogging and smart phones never even had to consider. But I think there’s something that we’ve missed and there is a dialogue that has been brought up less frequently that needs to be considered.

We are the first generation of mothers who are letting our lives play out online. 

 

This is an entirely new world for us, just as it is for our children and we are navigating motherhood under a microscope in ways that no generation before has ever done. Yes, it is mostly by our choice, but even those who abstain from documenting the day to day are affected by this world of online motherhood.

We’re all learning how to walk this journey together, but I wonder what kind of example we’re setting for the young mothers coming up behind us, not to mention for our own daughters who are watching and learning. This thought alone has given me a lot of pause in recent months. It’s why I’ve blogged less and held my cards a little closer to my chest.

I’ve been trying to figure out how to blend this technology with motherhood in a way that is healthy not only for me, but for those who are watching and learning. I didn’t have an example of how to do this – I am the example.

As mothers, and women, our natural instinct seems to always gravitate toward judgement – judgement of ourselves and of those who do things differently. This tendency is not new to our generation, of course. This ability to judge others, both negatively and positively, is part of the make-up of womanhood. Blame it on estrogen, I guess, but we are prone to gossip and judgement and that is a fact that cannot be denied.

Before us, these tendencies were confined to the playground or water coolers or the sideliens of the soccer games – whereever mothers congregated in packs, there was always the opportunity to share a tidbit, to vent a frustration, to share insecurities. Mothers lived out their offenses on a much smaller scale.

But now, these grievances are aired in such a public way that it leaves me concerned. I worry about what the young ones behind us are seeing and I wonder how my contribution to the noise might be affecting their perception of others and of the world around them.

The problem is, we are all different and different things will rub us all the wrong way. It must be very confusing for first time moms to figure out what should upset them and what shouldn’t. This viral post tells them to get their eyes off the iPhone, while that one tells them it’s okay. This Facebook post tells them to be upset when someone urges them to enjoy every moment with their kids because it goes by fast, but that Facebook post tells them it’s true! It does go by fast! You should enjoy the little moments.

This post says be upset if someone asks you if you are going to try for a boy/girl, if you are going to breastfeed, if you are going to homeschool or public school or private school and on and on the list could go. Every post written has a different one that contradicts it. The older generation must now walk on pins and needles lest they upset us young moms with our fast fingers, constantly ready to tell the world how offended we are.

It’s noisy, isn’t it? And I’ve contributed to the noise in my own way. But more and more I’m learning to just accept people for who they are. I’ve found that 99.9% of the time, people don’t mean to be offensive so I’m working on giving the benefit of the doubt and moving on knowing that my way won’t be the same as her way and that is okay! 

Can I, perhaps, offer a bit of encouragement to us all? Let us not be so easily offended. Let us not feel the need to publicly correct every stranger who says something that rubs us the wrong way. Let us try harder to give one another the benefit of the doubt.

What if we spent less time getting offended by others and more time simply loving one another? How would that look online? If a woman at the grocery store comments on our number of children, or asks if we “know what causes that” *wink, wink* what if we just smiled, thanked her for her interest in our family and moved on…without sharing it online? What if we bore with one another patiently, knowing that sometimes people say things that bother us not to be offensive, but simply because we are all different and are affected by different things?

I don’t know how good I am at this business of bearing with one another, but I’m learning. Even writing this post, I wonder if I’m helping the problem or perpetuating it. But my heart is to encourage myself, and all of us, to think before we type.

Because we’re being watched and we are the first to walk on this particular path of motherhood. Let’s show the generations to come how to do it well. 

To Mother – with love

“At the very least, they (man) can be persuaded that the bodily position makes no difference to their prayers; for they constantly forget, what you must always remember, that they are animals and that whatever their bodies do affects their souls. It is funny how mortals always picture us as putting things in their minds: in reality our best work is done by keeping things out.” C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, Letter #4

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Two weeks ago, I pulled out the final box. Nearly eighteen months in our home and this one box sat in the office closet, taunting me with the unpacked contents. I lifted each item from inside the brown cardboard and carefully decided whether to keep or purge. As I pulled out the final photo album, I looked down to see a single, red book.

It was thin and hard bound, the binding worn just slightly. As I picked it up, I inhaled deep the smell of history. I don’t ever remember seeing this book and as I turned to see what treasure I had just uncovered, I drew in a sharp breath.

The Screwtape Letters. C. S. Lewis.

I sat down in my plush yellow chair and slowly opened the book. It smelled musty and worn. The pages were crisp and yellowed. Opening the cover, I noticed the inscription:

To Mother,

On this Mother’s Day – with love

Fred

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Purchased and gifted with love in 1946 by a man who wanted to give his mother something special on Mother’s Day. I ran my fingers over each page and wondered what stories this book held. Bought at the end of the World War II, a subject and piece of history that consumes most of my days right now as I finish my novel, this particular copy has a story.

A story for Mother.

 

Read the rest at Kelli Stuart.com

Monday Musings

Well hey there, friends ! How is everyone on this fine and lovely Monday morning? Me? I’m cold. Yes, I am. Apparently Mother Nature has gotten her geography mixed up and has dumped a bit of Midwest weather on my beloved Florida and I’m officially not a fan.

Of course, it’s supposed to be 88* on Thursday, so I can’t complain too much, but still… My feet are cold right now and in general cold weather clothing isn’t my favorite. I want to wear dresses and sandals so C’Mon Florida! Get it together!!

(Two exclamation points mean I’m super serious.)

I had a total OMG I’m a parent moment this weekend as we huddled under blankets on the bleachers at both boy’s baseball games. I remember my parents sitting on the sidelines of the soccer field when I was a kid, sipping coffee and hot chocolate and cheering me on through numb, frozen lips.

Except we lived in Wisconsin when I was a kid, so my parents definitely suffered more for the cause of parenthood. Northern parents get an extra jewel in their crown for frigid mornings on the sidelines.

Nevertheless, as I sipped my hot chocolate and cheered my boys on to baseball victory, I had to laugh. I’m a friggin’ parent! This is what parents do. Come rain or shine, hot or cold, we’re on the sidelines banging our hands together because the smile that comes across his lips when he hears you call his name is totally worth a little frostbite.

Plus hot chocolate tastes better at the ball park. Silver linings…you can always find them.

TRANSITION

I updated our adoption page this weekend. If you don’t mind, take a moment to hop on over there and check it out. God is good, friends. I’m still struggling with this place we’re in. I am on the verge of tears at any moment of the day so if you happen to call at one of the bad moments, I am so sorry!

But I know and believe my God is good. I believe that He loves the orphan more than I do and I believe that He has given me a heart for orphan care for a reason. Though He feels quiet and distant right now, I believe without a shadow of a doubt He is doing a good work that I cannot see or understand and when the time is right, He will reveal it.

I believe this and I am clinging to this belief.

I still wish He would send me an email, though. Gosh, that would make this easier.

TRANSITION

I’m sitting in Barnes and Noble right now as I write this post. I love book stores – even big, impersonal commercial ones like this. The books that surround me just smell of imagination. Sometimes I look at the shelves and imagine my own book sitting up there.

I don’t know if that will happen or not, but I have hope and dreaming is always fun.

Speaking of my book, Lee and I are heading to Naples this weekend. He has a conference to attend there for work and I’m tagging along because HELLO a weekend at the Waldorf Astoria in Naples, Florida?!

Lee told me the other day that he was afraid I’d be bored while he was working during the day. When I stopped laughing hysterically I assured him I would not be bored. I will be working on my book and when I’m not writing, I will be laying out by the pool reading a little Jane Austen.

“Bored” is not written anywhere on my to do list for the weekend.

And I mentioned that it’s supposed to be 88* this weekend, right?

CLOSING PARAGRAPH

Okay, friends. I think that’s enough chit chatting for today. I’ve got a few topics rolling around in my head, but I can’t seem to get them to translate onscreen yet. Lee and I are leading a study right now on the Character and Nature of God based on C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters. Well, to be clear, Lee is leading the study. I am setting snacks on the table for everyone who comes over.

We all have a part in life…

The Screwtape Letters is rocking me pretty significantly, especially right now with all that is happening in life. I want to share some of that with you.

Soon.

For now, I’m off to tap out a few more pages on The Novel which, by the way, I have titled. I love the title. I think it’s perfect. I hope I get to keep it.

Happy Monday, folks! Anyone have good news to share today? I would love to hear it.

Miracles in the Pocket

Peering out the airplane window, all I could see was glaring, sear your eyes white. The morning sun stood high above miles and miles of clouds, completely obscuring the world below. With no real marker below to give away our speed, it felt as though we were floating. Were it not for the man crammed very snugly against my side, I think it would have been the most serene and peaceful I’ve felt in many months.

The bell chimed and the captain’s voice broke through the speakers. “Folks, we’re making our initial descent into New Orleans. We have a bit of weather ahead of us, so I’m going to ask that you return to your seats and put on your seatbelts as we make our way down.”

And still I watched, my forehead pressed tight against the cool glass, as we slowly drifted down, closer and closer to the white peaks below. The clouds were thick and full, a world of shapes dancing beneathe me, all waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the horizon of white stood the vibrant blue sky and a perfectly round sun beyond that. And still we dropped until…

 

Read the rest at Kelli Stuart.com

Courageous Living

Today I am headed to Texas for a rather impromptu girl’s weekend with some of the women who are dearest and sweetest to me. We are going to attend dotMom together and spend an entire weekend laughing, maybe crying a bit, and all around encouraging one another in this thing called life.

I’m learning new things every day right now. New things about who God is – His character and nature and innate longing for us to love Him. I’m seeking and watching and praying and I finally feel a true sense of…dare I say – HOPE?!

There’s a next step for us in this journey to defend the orphan. I’m probably not finished crying or mourning the end of my dream, though I do think/hope I had my final ugly cry over it this past weekend. And as I once again soaked the sleeve of my husband’s shirt, he reminded me of that thing that is so often easy to forget.

We have been called to live courageously.

Our adoption was not a failure. We are in this place because this is where God wants us to be. This place, this fire, is where we will learn more what is means to be a free lover of Him who created us to live without fear. He has called us – our family – to courageous living. And He’s given us a passion for adoption and orphan care. Oh the excitement that comes from trusting Him. The power that comes when you know that where you are is right where you should be…even if it hurts.

We aren’t done in this pursuit of defending the orphan. We are most certainly not done. Every day we release the fears a little more (at least I do. Apparently I had a lot more fear than I let myself believe). Each day I feel a renewed sense of awe at my husband and his willingness to seek what God would have for our family. I’m so grateful for his support in this time. He hasn’t once asked me to shove these feelings under a carpet. He’s listened, encouraged and pushed me – us – toward greater courage.

There is no real clarity yet and I don’t feel certainty in this path we’re on. But I feel hopeful and even a little excited for the future. God’s not done with us yet.

What a thrill.

Have a blessed and courageous weekend everyone!

When your soul is not well

Necklace from Lisa Leonard Designs Necklace from Lisa Leonard Designs

I sat in the front of his tiny boat, my hands gripped to the slippery sides with all the strength I could muster. Huddled beneathe a plastic tarp, I looked at all their faces for some sign that told me it was okay to panic. We were all being brave, laughing nervously to stave off the terror as wave after wave crashed over the sides, the full wrath of the Carribbean falling upon us.

When we set off from Spanish Wells, Bahamas, the sea had been calm. The day was bright, perfect for a short three hour cruise to Nassau. I can’t remember our exact number, but there were a lot of us to pile onto the small boat that day. We were at the tail end of a week long family reunion. This was our Bon Voyage.

The storm came up quickly, as they tend to do over the ocean. Before we knew it, we were hunkered down in a rocking boat with only a few life jackets to go around and though I am almost always game for a grand adventure, on this particular day I wanted nothing more than to get off that boat.

Terrified and sick, I couldn’t see for the wind and the rain. The salty ocean water stung my eyes. And yet every time a wave hit our boat, I felt an odd sense of peace thanks to the man who stood at the helm of the ship, steering us through the storm.

As the boat rocked, he smiled broadly. When the waves crashed hard, he let out a roar of delighted laughter. He did not delight in our fear, but rather in the joy of the ride.

He knew where we were headed and he knew what stood on the other side of the storm.

 

Read more at Kelli Stuart.com

When God Says Dream Bigger

As the dust of a fallen dream begins to settle and my heartache quells a bit, I find myself at a crossroad. I look to my left and to my right and there are options. One of the roads is easier than others. It’s paved and smooth. This road is lined with vibrant green grass that is meticulously groomed and there isn’t a stop sign in sight.

It’s open. Safe. Secure.

Boring?

Another road is dark. It’s a little gloomy and cloudy. I don’t really know what to expect on that road, but I think it’s backed up rather indefinitely with traffic. Bumper to bumper, no end in sight. Scary.

And there’s another road. It’s straight uphill and quite honestly, I don’t know what I’ll find when I get to the top. The road is gravel and full of potholes. There are stop lights hanging every few feet and it seems as though I may have to push my way to the top here and there.

But it could be exciting.

This is a metaphor…clearly. You knew that already, right?

Oh good.

The good news is, we have options. That is very good news. Option one is to take the safe road. Lee and I could easily chalk this adoption trial up as a failure. We could dust off our hands and turn to the left – the safe road. We could keep moving forward with our three beautiful, biological children. We could quit tucking extra funds aside and finally buy a smokin’ new minivan, that Mac laptop I’ve been coveting and maybe even take our children on a rockin’ vacation.

Safe. Secure.

Boring?

We could continue to wait this adoption thing out or better yet, we could switch to a new country. We could step forward on the next road – the dark and scary one that is currently stalled with the longest red light in the history of ever. But as I’ve found these last few weeks – being stuck in the dark is gloomy and sad.

I need something to look forward to.

This isn’t to say we’ve completely given up on adoption, but for right now we are taking a step back and waiting for direction. It’s coming – slowly – in little tiny puzzle pieces that I think will eventually fit together.

So we turn toward the hard road. This is where we are right now. We’re standing at the crossroad and we’re looking up, waiting for instructions on when and how to move forward.

I’ve spent the better part of the last month asking God why. Why did He bring us to this point?  Two weeks ago, I was an emotional mess. It was the lowest I have ever felt. I could hardly drag myself from my bed and when I did, I was immediately overcome with fatigue and sadness. In my distress and confusion, I cried out to God. I poured out my why as a drink offering, laying my burden of grief at the alter and begging for some sign that He still had a plan.

I opened my Bible and the pages fluttered and fell to Isaiah chapter 1.

Isaiah 1:17 says “Learn to do good; Seek justice, Reprove the ruthless, Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow.”

My initial reaction upon reading this verse was to throw my hands up in exasperation. “That’s what I’m trying to do!” I cried in frustration. But then I had to stop and sit still.

Remember when He told me to wait? How quick I am to forget such things.

And in the two weeks since I read that verse, He has provided sign after sign that He’s not done with us yet. I’m starting to get the feeling that God wants us to dream bigger. He wants us to defend the orphan, but this goes beyond simply adopting. (Hahaha! The phrase “simply adopting” made me laugh out loud. That’s an oxymoron…)

I don’t know what it is we’re supposed to do just yet. I’m waiting. Sometimes I wait patiently. Other times I tap my toe in impatient anticipation.

But this one thing I know without a doubt: We have never been called to live a life of fear and choosing the safe road benefits no one – not us, not our children and it certainly doesn’t help the orphans in distress. So we’re waiting and prying loose tightened fists so we can stand tall and move in freedom toward that which He has placed before us.

Will you pray with us, for both clarity and wisdom? And while we’re praying, can I pray for you? Is there something big and scary looming before you – a path that seems to be a little bit harder? How can I pray?

I ran a mile the other day

On Wednesday, after yet another fitful night’s sleep, I forced myself out of bed, threw on my running shoes and pushed myself out the door before I had time to consider the ramifications of my actions. I started running before my not-totally-alert brain could convince me otherwise.

I was about a quarter mile in when my brain issued a “What the BEEP?” signal to the rest of my body, at which point my lungs constricted, my legs turned to lead and I remembered how much I have always hated running.

But still I kept going, because while I may hate running, I hate defeat even more and I simply cannot let my body defeat me this way.

It’s been a long, hard month and a half, which has left me feeling sad, tired, sluggish and trapped under the weight of so much heaviness. Beyond the potentially failed adoption, there have been family issues, hurting friends and looming changes that have so weighed me down that the very act of smiling began to feel tiresome.

So I’m making some changes. Change number one – I’m spending a little less time online. For the most part, the people I interact with online are beautiful, wonderful, encouraging, happy people. But I’m also prone, at this time, to drift toward sites that discuss the current adoption situation, and I dwell on the faces of the children who made it home and it makes my heart ache.

So, I’m stepping back a bit to let my heart heal and to let God realign and reconfigure the dream a bit. He’s doing that, by the way. God is completely and totally shifting things around for both Lee and I. It’s exciting and scary and heartbreaking and relieving and it’s still developing. I don’t totally understand what He is doing or what next step we need to take, but I feel confident that He’s not done with us yet.

I just need some time to let go of the dream the way that I saw it playing out.

Second thing I’m doing is drinking more water and tea, taking vitamins and trying to sleep more. The sleep thing is tricky, though. Darkness and quiet foster too much thinking. I’m working on shutting my brain down at night.

The third thing I’m doing is exercising, because it produces endorphins that help combat sadness, stress and fatigue. Incidentally, I quote Elle Woods from Legally Blonde every time I lace up my shoes to work out:

“Excercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people don’t kill their husbands…they just don’t.” Elle Woods

Ha! That quote makes me happy. It should also make Lee happy, too. And make him feel safer at night…

So back to exercise. Working out has always been a big part of my daily life. I wake up, I eat, I work out, I go about my day. That’s been my routine since college. But lately, particularly the last year, I’ve lost my workout mojo. It’s just been hard to stay motivated.

Add stress and heartache to the mix and you have a recipe for disaster. Remember, I am the wisp of a girl. Letting myself get lazy is not healthy. There’s also the added stress of this being the year I turn 35, which doesn’t help matters. I’ve officially dubbed the next five months Operation Kick 35’s A$$ Bootay.

In an effort to stay on top of this very important part of my road to emotional recovery, I have joined up with Team Pretty Muddy as one of their Tampa bloggers! I’m so, so excited about this partnership for a few reasons.

One, it just sounds like fun. Running a 5k? BO-RING! Running a 5k that exists entirely in the mud and has slides? SO FUN!

I am already recruiting my local team of runners and if you want to join us, let me know because the more the merrier in my opinion! I plan on running a few times a week so that I can at least survive the run without complete and total embarassment, although I did inform my potentail teammates last night that should the running portion of the race be over my head, I will totally fake a sprained ankle.

I’m not too proud to take myself out of the race if it means saving face…

But really, it’s only 3.2 miles and it’s in the mud! It can’t be that hard, right? Right?!

It’s taken me two days to recover from the one measly mile I ran on Wednesday. I think I have my work cut out for me….

If you want to join me in this year’s Pretty Muddy Race, visit the website and register now, then let me know so we can plan our post race party! *wink, wink*