I know that y'all know my general feelings about #adulting. As in, it is equal parts liberating and frustrating. I'm only a few months into this new decade, but the 30s have proved to be much more freeing than their predecessor. I find that I'm more sure of myself and ready to face life head on. But wow, the responsibility. Throw in a tiny human into the mix, and it's. just. wow.
It's amazing how this child who I love more than life can also be so incredibly frustrating. You go from wanting nothing but snuggles to realizing why some animals eat their young. It's a weird range of emotions if you've never been there. And people will warn you of this, and you will roll your eyes and say, "___ doesn't know me. She doesn't know my life!" And then it will be true. You truly wonder how the same thing that brings you such joy can also be so maddeningly frustrating.
Have you ever been through a season of life in which you know your obedience was directly in line with the will of God and then things almost instantly start to cave in? I know that I know that I know that we were called to adopt our #HWD. God placed that call on our lives and orchestrated that before we were even us. Through a lot of prayer and the Lord's faithfulness and provision, we were able to adopt our son relatively quickly and debt-free. We, along with so many of you, covered the journey in prayer, and God proved his faithfulness in our lives. And the enemy doesn't like that. At. All.
Satan will try to find any way he can to tear down what God has built up. He will cause work troubles and the stress of an unexpected job hunt with a 2-month-old at home. He will bring about unexpected financial situations like a broken air conditioner (I know I know #firstworldproblems). He will cause relationships that you thought were stable to unexpectedly implode over pettiness. He will bring on emotional pain and heartache in your marriage.
But Christ is our redeemer. He holds the keys and none of this is a shock. He provides financially beyond your wildest imagination. He brings you even closer to home in a great school. He brings true friends into your life. He brings emotional healing and immense love out of the dare to love deeply in your marriage. He brings life, hope, and peace. And that is who I choose to place my trust in. Regardless of what the world throws at you, Christ is in control. And at the end of the day, I rest in that comforting embrace.
"I will not be moved. I'll say of the Lord, 'You are my shield, my strength, my portion, deliver. My shelter, strong tower, my very present help in time of need.'"
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Sunday, August 14, 2016
think before you post
Parents,
Congrats! You've survived another summer, and now the chaos and regularity of school begins again. You are now entrusting your bundles of joy with adults who care about them more than you or they will ever know. And that can be scary, terrifying even, especially if you haven't had the chance to have a "meet the teacher" night - and sometimes even if you have.
I get it y'all. I think about the day in a few years when I will have to let go of HWD's hand and send him to school all day with a teacher who I know will love on him and hopefully pass on a little knowledge to him along the way. She or he will discipline him too, and HWD might be a little sad or angry about it, but guess what? He needs it! I trust even now that his best interests will always be considered.
Can I let you in on a secret? Never in all of my career have I worked with a teacher who was out to "get" a student, or to bring harm to anyone in that classroom. I've worked with some remarkable educators in the last 9 years - many who have high expectations, teach so much more than their content, develop an uncanny rapport with their students, and who challenge me daily to step up my game. They may do things that frustrate students or parents, but they've never been like Ms. Trunchbull with a "gotcha" attitude. A teacher's being hard on your child will only help prepare him or her for their future - whatever that looks like. I've bounced back from multiple unexpected turns in my career because I had teachers who taught me early on that it's ok to fall down, but it's not ok to stay there. They guided me back to success, and that's made me who I am today.
While there is no formal Hippocratic Oath for teachers, I would like to believe that we all take an oath to constantly grow our field, research and use best practices, instruct with passion, teach with rigor, and to always have the students' best interest at heart. Parents, your babies are our babies. I still call anyone who was in my class ever "my kid" or "my baby." Do they sometimes stand on my nerves - not like our own children ever do that - to the point of my nearly going bananas? Yes. But I still love them and will care for them just the same.
I say all that in preparing to ask you all for a favor. When you get frustrated with your child's teacher, when you feel they're not hearing you, when you wonder just how to fix the problem, please take a deep breath. Talk to that teacher one-on-one and don't come in guns blazing. Try to resolve the issue peacefully. If that doesn't fix the problem, seek an administrator.
But for the love, please please please do not take to social media to shame that teacher in an arena in which he or she is defenseless. Remember that while you were wondering when summer would ever end, that teacher was spending time, energy, and resources to prepare a classroom in which your child would feel safe. Remember that your child's teacher has a family at home too - one who they love dearly and are working hard in the classroom for in order to earn a living. Remember that your child's teacher is a member of a community that may or may not overlap with yours; no one on your friends list really should have to be put in that awkward position of having to "choose a side" if you will. In the age of internet shaming, let's all consider whether or not we would want to have someone with limited knowledge of a situation that took place at our place of work to blast us on the interwebs for all to see. Ms. Greene might frustrate you once or even twice, but social media is not the place to announce that. You may feel she should not hold that position, but remember you are looking at it through a momma bear or papa bear lens. On behalf of teachers everywhere, please think before you post.
Congrats! You've survived another summer, and now the chaos and regularity of school begins again. You are now entrusting your bundles of joy with adults who care about them more than you or they will ever know. And that can be scary, terrifying even, especially if you haven't had the chance to have a "meet the teacher" night - and sometimes even if you have.
I get it y'all. I think about the day in a few years when I will have to let go of HWD's hand and send him to school all day with a teacher who I know will love on him and hopefully pass on a little knowledge to him along the way. She or he will discipline him too, and HWD might be a little sad or angry about it, but guess what? He needs it! I trust even now that his best interests will always be considered.
Can I let you in on a secret? Never in all of my career have I worked with a teacher who was out to "get" a student, or to bring harm to anyone in that classroom. I've worked with some remarkable educators in the last 9 years - many who have high expectations, teach so much more than their content, develop an uncanny rapport with their students, and who challenge me daily to step up my game. They may do things that frustrate students or parents, but they've never been like Ms. Trunchbull with a "gotcha" attitude. A teacher's being hard on your child will only help prepare him or her for their future - whatever that looks like. I've bounced back from multiple unexpected turns in my career because I had teachers who taught me early on that it's ok to fall down, but it's not ok to stay there. They guided me back to success, and that's made me who I am today.
While there is no formal Hippocratic Oath for teachers, I would like to believe that we all take an oath to constantly grow our field, research and use best practices, instruct with passion, teach with rigor, and to always have the students' best interest at heart. Parents, your babies are our babies. I still call anyone who was in my class ever "my kid" or "my baby." Do they sometimes stand on my nerves - not like our own children ever do that - to the point of my nearly going bananas? Yes. But I still love them and will care for them just the same.
I say all that in preparing to ask you all for a favor. When you get frustrated with your child's teacher, when you feel they're not hearing you, when you wonder just how to fix the problem, please take a deep breath. Talk to that teacher one-on-one and don't come in guns blazing. Try to resolve the issue peacefully. If that doesn't fix the problem, seek an administrator.
But for the love, please please please do not take to social media to shame that teacher in an arena in which he or she is defenseless. Remember that while you were wondering when summer would ever end, that teacher was spending time, energy, and resources to prepare a classroom in which your child would feel safe. Remember that your child's teacher has a family at home too - one who they love dearly and are working hard in the classroom for in order to earn a living. Remember that your child's teacher is a member of a community that may or may not overlap with yours; no one on your friends list really should have to be put in that awkward position of having to "choose a side" if you will. In the age of internet shaming, let's all consider whether or not we would want to have someone with limited knowledge of a situation that took place at our place of work to blast us on the interwebs for all to see. Ms. Greene might frustrate you once or even twice, but social media is not the place to announce that. You may feel she should not hold that position, but remember you are looking at it through a momma bear or papa bear lens. On behalf of teachers everywhere, please think before you post.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
a voice
There's a side to parenting that no one really discusses. Sure people talk about the poop and pee stains, the zombie-like state due to lack of sleep, and the film of powder that perpetually coats that corner of the kitchen counter where you store the formula. They tell you to make sure you communicate with your spouse, to shower the baby with love but not too much, and that you really do need to soak in every single moment because it all moves so quickly. But no one dares mention the soul-crushing anxiety that can encompass every waking moment if you let it.
As a type-A, OCD-diagnosed, perfectionist, have-to-do-it-myself type of person, fatherhood has been difficult at times. Don't get me wrong. It's filled with wonderful moments when he looks in my eyes and grins the gummiest, sweetest grin you've ever seen; when he coos so loudly when I sing to him my favorite vocalises (momma made me mash my m&ms, red leather/yellow leather, et al); and those blissful moments when I tell him I love him and he sinks even deeper into my arms. At that point, I know that I am doing at least one thing right.
But then there are the moments when he literally will not stop screaming, despite the fact that his diaper is clean and his belly is full. There are the moments when you just want one moment for yourself in a slightly selfish way. There are times when you are so determined to be so over-the-top great and do-it-yourself that you do all the things and end up hurting your wife's feelings because she only sees herself as a warm body in the church routine. There are moments when your tunnel-visioned self literally cannot think of something as simple as standing up and walking to assuage the crying, and when your wife finally does that for you, you break down in sobs. It. is. so. hard.
And then there's the issue of dealing with all of this. Yes, I take my me time to run almost every day while I train for my next half, but sometimes that just doesn't do the trick. I've always been one who struggled with voicing my feelings, but I could easily write about them. But lately, not only has it been hard to put my feelings into words, I've struggled with the way I am perceived. It seems that my intent is not always clear on my blog, and I have turned some people away. If that is true for you, then I am sincerely sorry; this is my voice, and it's the only one I know.
Say what you will about millennials needing a safe space, but shouldn't everyone have somewhere where it's ok to speak your mind in a low-judgment arena? I don't claim to be an expert in parenting at all, or really in any area of my life, so the observations I've recorded have just been that - observations. I attempt to add humor to them to defer the anxiety, but then I wind up being misinterpreted and turning more people away. And this leads to more anxiety because I worry about how I'm going to get all these frustrations out {some of you are probably thinking a journal, right?} while still seeking some consolation that it's all going to be ok. It's a vicious cycle.
And it has to end. Parents, we HAVE to stop burning each other at the stake for every transgression that we notice about each other - whether it's recorded on social media or not. Parenthood is tough enough as it is; we don't need to be at odds with each other over the way our babies are posed in a picture, the number of times we feed our babies, or whether or not we post about our babies on social media. Do we see what's happening here, y'all? We are missing out on our blessings because of adults who are acting like children, and we are experiencing more anxiety ourselves as a result.
So here I am. An imperfect dad who struggles with the weight of this burden of raising a God-fearing son in our society. A man who loves his wife fiercely but doesn't always show it in a way that honors her. A friend who worries about the way his friends perceive his heart in all of this. An anxiety sufferer who hopes that at least one of you find comfort in these words. A child of God who prays that He receives the honor & glory in all things.
As a type-A, OCD-diagnosed, perfectionist, have-to-do-it-myself type of person, fatherhood has been difficult at times. Don't get me wrong. It's filled with wonderful moments when he looks in my eyes and grins the gummiest, sweetest grin you've ever seen; when he coos so loudly when I sing to him my favorite vocalises (momma made me mash my m&ms, red leather/yellow leather, et al); and those blissful moments when I tell him I love him and he sinks even deeper into my arms. At that point, I know that I am doing at least one thing right.
But then there are the moments when he literally will not stop screaming, despite the fact that his diaper is clean and his belly is full. There are the moments when you just want one moment for yourself in a slightly selfish way. There are times when you are so determined to be so over-the-top great and do-it-yourself that you do all the things and end up hurting your wife's feelings because she only sees herself as a warm body in the church routine. There are moments when your tunnel-visioned self literally cannot think of something as simple as standing up and walking to assuage the crying, and when your wife finally does that for you, you break down in sobs. It. is. so. hard.
And then there's the issue of dealing with all of this. Yes, I take my me time to run almost every day while I train for my next half, but sometimes that just doesn't do the trick. I've always been one who struggled with voicing my feelings, but I could easily write about them. But lately, not only has it been hard to put my feelings into words, I've struggled with the way I am perceived. It seems that my intent is not always clear on my blog, and I have turned some people away. If that is true for you, then I am sincerely sorry; this is my voice, and it's the only one I know.
Say what you will about millennials needing a safe space, but shouldn't everyone have somewhere where it's ok to speak your mind in a low-judgment arena? I don't claim to be an expert in parenting at all, or really in any area of my life, so the observations I've recorded have just been that - observations. I attempt to add humor to them to defer the anxiety, but then I wind up being misinterpreted and turning more people away. And this leads to more anxiety because I worry about how I'm going to get all these frustrations out {some of you are probably thinking a journal, right?} while still seeking some consolation that it's all going to be ok. It's a vicious cycle.
And it has to end. Parents, we HAVE to stop burning each other at the stake for every transgression that we notice about each other - whether it's recorded on social media or not. Parenthood is tough enough as it is; we don't need to be at odds with each other over the way our babies are posed in a picture, the number of times we feed our babies, or whether or not we post about our babies on social media. Do we see what's happening here, y'all? We are missing out on our blessings because of adults who are acting like children, and we are experiencing more anxiety ourselves as a result.
So here I am. An imperfect dad who struggles with the weight of this burden of raising a God-fearing son in our society. A man who loves his wife fiercely but doesn't always show it in a way that honors her. A friend who worries about the way his friends perceive his heart in all of this. An anxiety sufferer who hopes that at least one of you find comfort in these words. A child of God who prays that He receives the honor & glory in all things.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
color blind
Let me make something abundantly clear before this goes any further: I could not love my son any more. He is my pride and joy, and I will go to battle for him to the ends of the earth. If you've been in touch with me in the last few months, you know that my son doesn't look like me and never will. I couldn't be any more ok with that fact. Regardless of his looks or the color of his skin, he is and always will be my son. Plain and simple.
A lot has been said in the past few years especially about which lives matter and which do not. The reality of this situation is that I know my son will have a tougher go in some areas of life than I did, but I can still equip him to be a man of character, a man who loves the Lord and his family, and a man who is proud to wear this last name of his that will soon be official. People have asked me if we will tell him he's adopted, and I jokingly answer "well if he doesn't know, he may need to get his eyes checked." {Humor in uncomfortable situations is my coping mechanism du jour.}
I've also been asked several times which race he will identify with. Part of our adoption education courses included a session on transracial adoption; we had always been open to the idea. But I guess I never really processed the depth of that question or the underlying sorrow. Because here's the reality y'all. He's a human, end of story. Why can't he identify as being a member of the human race? Why must we look at it through that lens so often in our society? Why can't we see this little brown baby as just a baby who brings his parents so much joy? Why do we have to label every single thing?
I know, I know. In the age of social media outcries and political correctness, this can be a touchy subject. My son is a human who was created in the image of a perfect God. It doesn't matter if he had 11 toes or webbed feet; he would still be the perfect child God had planned for us. {PLEASE don't misread that as "He thinks his child is perfect," because I know he isn't.} If you see the color of my son's skin first before your recognize those beautiful lashes, those chubby cheeks, the big feet, or his infectious grin, then perhaps you need to check your own eyes and check your heart. The truth is, we are all humans. We can all use a little more love, mercy, and grace. And we can start treating each other a lot nicer too.
I also need to apologize / clear the air over a slight ruckus I created on the book o face yesterday in posting about our court date and inviting those who could to attend. We have been asked if we plan on sharing every picture from our journey, to which we responded that we couldn't for the sake of time {seriously, 3.5 months worth x 2 oversharing parents with camera phones = too many pictures to post}. There seems to be a misunderstanding that people deserve or have a right to what has been a very intimate time for us and for our families.
Yes, we have been transparent about the adoption process and journey, partially because we feel society just doesn't have the proper education about it and we desire to be ambassadors of sorts. But we have been far from oversharers. We didn't share each time we got a birth mother summary, each mother who chose someone else and left us brokenhearted, the families we said no to simply because of the situation, leaving us absolutely broken. We haven't shared the nights we simply sat and cried in an empty nursery because of the weight of this journey.
We have not and WILL NOT share the details of our son's journey home or his entry into the world and all that that entailed. That is his and his birth mother's story first and foremost. When he is old enough to comprehend, he will hear that from us; then he can share what he feels others need to know. While we are appreciative and grateful for those who have earnestly prayed for us daily, have donated of their time and resources for fundraisers, and have actually sent us messages of encouragement, no one has a right to this story except for Christ and the 3 people in this home. And if that's not ok with you in the age of oversharing, then perhaps you need to evaluate where you are in our life. We desire to honor Christ in our adoption, not get likes on Facebook.
A lot has been said in the past few years especially about which lives matter and which do not. The reality of this situation is that I know my son will have a tougher go in some areas of life than I did, but I can still equip him to be a man of character, a man who loves the Lord and his family, and a man who is proud to wear this last name of his that will soon be official. People have asked me if we will tell him he's adopted, and I jokingly answer "well if he doesn't know, he may need to get his eyes checked." {Humor in uncomfortable situations is my coping mechanism du jour.}
I've also been asked several times which race he will identify with. Part of our adoption education courses included a session on transracial adoption; we had always been open to the idea. But I guess I never really processed the depth of that question or the underlying sorrow. Because here's the reality y'all. He's a human, end of story. Why can't he identify as being a member of the human race? Why must we look at it through that lens so often in our society? Why can't we see this little brown baby as just a baby who brings his parents so much joy? Why do we have to label every single thing?
I know, I know. In the age of social media outcries and political correctness, this can be a touchy subject. My son is a human who was created in the image of a perfect God. It doesn't matter if he had 11 toes or webbed feet; he would still be the perfect child God had planned for us. {PLEASE don't misread that as "He thinks his child is perfect," because I know he isn't.} If you see the color of my son's skin first before your recognize those beautiful lashes, those chubby cheeks, the big feet, or his infectious grin, then perhaps you need to check your own eyes and check your heart. The truth is, we are all humans. We can all use a little more love, mercy, and grace. And we can start treating each other a lot nicer too.
I also need to apologize / clear the air over a slight ruckus I created on the book o face yesterday in posting about our court date and inviting those who could to attend. We have been asked if we plan on sharing every picture from our journey, to which we responded that we couldn't for the sake of time {seriously, 3.5 months worth x 2 oversharing parents with camera phones = too many pictures to post}. There seems to be a misunderstanding that people deserve or have a right to what has been a very intimate time for us and for our families.
Yes, we have been transparent about the adoption process and journey, partially because we feel society just doesn't have the proper education about it and we desire to be ambassadors of sorts. But we have been far from oversharers. We didn't share each time we got a birth mother summary, each mother who chose someone else and left us brokenhearted, the families we said no to simply because of the situation, leaving us absolutely broken. We haven't shared the nights we simply sat and cried in an empty nursery because of the weight of this journey.
We have not and WILL NOT share the details of our son's journey home or his entry into the world and all that that entailed. That is his and his birth mother's story first and foremost. When he is old enough to comprehend, he will hear that from us; then he can share what he feels others need to know. While we are appreciative and grateful for those who have earnestly prayed for us daily, have donated of their time and resources for fundraisers, and have actually sent us messages of encouragement, no one has a right to this story except for Christ and the 3 people in this home. And if that's not ok with you in the age of oversharing, then perhaps you need to evaluate where you are in our life. We desire to honor Christ in our adoption, not get likes on Facebook.
Saturday, May 28, 2016
an education
I would like to begin by saying that my intent in writing this is not to bash any person, any school, or any system. I am writing to shed light on the harsh realities of my career, which has now included 8 years in 3 schools in both the private and public sector. The realities are the same for each.
48 hours ago, I was arriving at school for my last day with students. My plan for the day was to give my final exam to one last class, make a few parent contacts, collect some signatures on my sign-off sheet, and then kill time with some adult coloring since I had completed all I could at that point. About an hour and a half later, that all changed.
In the high-stakes world of education, a teacher without tenure can easily be non-renewed without explanation. I was the victim of that this week. And before you say, "Well that's what's wrong with tenure; it keeps good teachers out of a job," please know that I have seen and worked with just as many fantastic tenured teachers as excellent non-tenured ones. That's simply the nature of the beast in the world in which I work. I have witnessed teachers who earn their tenure thrive just as much as I have seen others receive their tenure and begin phoning it in. Also know that tenure is not job security. There are teachers who receive tenure that get mistreated to the point of packing it up just as often.
It would be one thing if I were frequently called into the front office for meetings about my job performance not meeting expectations, but that did not happen. I was under the impression that I was doing the job well enough to return next year. In fact, others in supervisory roles over me were under the same impression and were just as shocked as I was that I received that infamous letter of non-renewal. (Side bar: Why do we call it a pink slip when I've never gotten one that's pink?) In fact, parents of students often praised me to my supervisors and one had even gone so far as telling me she was going to try to request me for her next child who would be coming through the high school next year.
To summarize what followed: shock, phone calls to my moving team (shout out to my wonderful wife & fabulous fil for all of their help), packing, and saying goodbye to what I thought was home. Several tears were shed, both out of anger and sorrow. But I packed my toys and headed home. I can hang my hat on the fact that countless colleagues stopped me and told me that I would be missed, that I am a great teacher, and that I always did my job the right way - with integrity. Sometimes it really is the small things.
As a colleague and dear friend asked earlier in the week, "We are told to give feedback, provide strugglers extra help and communicate if in danger of failing. Shouldn't we offer the same to teachers?" One would think that if we expect our students to get this courtesy, our teachers should get the same. So why do we invite teachers to teach 3 different courses in their first year in a building - which means preparing countless lessons, materials, assessments, interventions, and the like - and never intervene if they are in danger of failure? Y'all, I have had colleagues in my building observe me for my techniques. I am halfway to be a Nationally Board Certified Teacher. I am really really good at my job. Why do we send administrators into the classroom to observe and offer feedback that is overall very positive and then non-renew these teachers without the knowledge of the observers? Why are we expected to share our hard work and lessons with other teachers in our subject-area-PLC without their having to work for it? How are some of these same people still around? Who do they know that I don't? Why do we pit teachers against each other into the "in club" and everyone else? These are the questions I have been pondering for the last 2 days.
So here I am, involuntarily searching for a job for the second time in thirteen months. Sometimes this adulting thing is entirely overrated. Here's how you can pray specifically for me and my family: (1) that doors would be opened for interviews with principals, (2) for favor on those interviews, and (3) for discernment for me as I sift through job offers. I want to be in the center of God's will, but I selfishly also want to earn my tenure so I don't have to do this song and dance annually. And guys, let's pray for the state of education. If we want to reform things and be on the forefront of things globally, perhaps we should change the way we value and treat our educators.
48 hours ago, I was arriving at school for my last day with students. My plan for the day was to give my final exam to one last class, make a few parent contacts, collect some signatures on my sign-off sheet, and then kill time with some adult coloring since I had completed all I could at that point. About an hour and a half later, that all changed.
In the high-stakes world of education, a teacher without tenure can easily be non-renewed without explanation. I was the victim of that this week. And before you say, "Well that's what's wrong with tenure; it keeps good teachers out of a job," please know that I have seen and worked with just as many fantastic tenured teachers as excellent non-tenured ones. That's simply the nature of the beast in the world in which I work. I have witnessed teachers who earn their tenure thrive just as much as I have seen others receive their tenure and begin phoning it in. Also know that tenure is not job security. There are teachers who receive tenure that get mistreated to the point of packing it up just as often.
It would be one thing if I were frequently called into the front office for meetings about my job performance not meeting expectations, but that did not happen. I was under the impression that I was doing the job well enough to return next year. In fact, others in supervisory roles over me were under the same impression and were just as shocked as I was that I received that infamous letter of non-renewal. (Side bar: Why do we call it a pink slip when I've never gotten one that's pink?) In fact, parents of students often praised me to my supervisors and one had even gone so far as telling me she was going to try to request me for her next child who would be coming through the high school next year.
To summarize what followed: shock, phone calls to my moving team (shout out to my wonderful wife & fabulous fil for all of their help), packing, and saying goodbye to what I thought was home. Several tears were shed, both out of anger and sorrow. But I packed my toys and headed home. I can hang my hat on the fact that countless colleagues stopped me and told me that I would be missed, that I am a great teacher, and that I always did my job the right way - with integrity. Sometimes it really is the small things.
As a colleague and dear friend asked earlier in the week, "We are told to give feedback, provide strugglers extra help and communicate if in danger of failing. Shouldn't we offer the same to teachers?" One would think that if we expect our students to get this courtesy, our teachers should get the same. So why do we invite teachers to teach 3 different courses in their first year in a building - which means preparing countless lessons, materials, assessments, interventions, and the like - and never intervene if they are in danger of failure? Y'all, I have had colleagues in my building observe me for my techniques. I am halfway to be a Nationally Board Certified Teacher. I am really really good at my job. Why do we send administrators into the classroom to observe and offer feedback that is overall very positive and then non-renew these teachers without the knowledge of the observers? Why are we expected to share our hard work and lessons with other teachers in our subject-area-PLC without their having to work for it? How are some of these same people still around? Who do they know that I don't? Why do we pit teachers against each other into the "in club" and everyone else? These are the questions I have been pondering for the last 2 days.
So here I am, involuntarily searching for a job for the second time in thirteen months. Sometimes this adulting thing is entirely overrated. Here's how you can pray specifically for me and my family: (1) that doors would be opened for interviews with principals, (2) for favor on those interviews, and (3) for discernment for me as I sift through job offers. I want to be in the center of God's will, but I selfishly also want to earn my tenure so I don't have to do this song and dance annually. And guys, let's pray for the state of education. If we want to reform things and be on the forefront of things globally, perhaps we should change the way we value and treat our educators.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
to our birth mother
It's Mother's Day, and you are heavy on my heart today. I wonder what kind of emotions you are experiencing today, and in spite of the joy of this day, my heart breaks for you. You made the bravest choice you could make when you chose to place your baby with us as his forever family. Today my wife celebrates her first Mother's Day, and I rejoice in the joy of parenting with her.
I only know your first name, I've never seen your face, & I've never heard your voice. Yet we share the most special of bonds in this little life the Lord has entrusted to us. But there are so many things I want to ask you, namely what do you want us to tell our son about you? I want to tell you that he is a long, lean snuggle bug who hates sleeping on his back and is adjusting to a swaddle after some time.
Above all, I want to tell you that he is loved. He is fiercely loved by his parents, his grandparents, his aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and even strangers who've only seen him once. Everyone who meets him tells us how beautiful he is and how he looks so peaceful and happy.
I want to tell you that he was dedicated to the Lord on this Mother's Day. We committed to raise him in a way that will show him Jesus from an early age and to be the Godly examples he needs. He is a precious gift who would not be in our lives were it not for you.
We have prayed for you daily during our adoption process, and we continue to pray specific things over you by name today. It has been such an honor to pray for this little life & for your life as well - who you are becoming, your relationship with the Lord, your relationship with your family.
Today, I pray that you realize how brave you are, that you are loved by your Heavenly Father, and I pray that your heart is full. I pray that you know how valuable you are to this family and. I pray that he never loses sight of the fact that your intense love for him gave him and us what we needed the most - each other. I pray that we can honor you in the choices we make. And I pray that you are at peace with a decision that had to be difficult beyond belief.
"I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord." - 1 Samuel 1: 27 - 28
Sunday, May 1, 2016
dad life
Y'all. I'm a dad. As in I have a son. I am one of 2 humans responsible for the well-being of this tiny human. And hey hey, we've all remained safe & sound for 18 days now! Score one for the home team. It still hasn't sunk in that this is all real.
A little over 2 weeks ago, we were traveling to another state to meet this ball of life for the first time. I'll spare you the histrionics of that meeting, but a summary of the emotions can be described as such: nervousness, shock, fear, elation, tears, joy, tears, more fear, tears, and the reality that this is what we've worked for. {Also, more tears.}
Then reality began to sink in, so we did what any normal Millennial couple does: head to Target! Strangely in spite of all we packed, we didn't bring formula. {Praise the Lord for those specials they run where you buy 15 of one product to get a $2 gift card!} We were in a hotel for the first few nights that we were out of state, which is an experience on its own - an even more stressful one when you're carrying a newborn with you.
Our first night included, but was not limited to: multiple attempts at cosleeping because the bassinet just wasn't cutting it, several trips to the conference room on the first floor as to not disturb our neighbors, and a 2 AM Wal-Mart run for gripe water {and an impulse purchase of those amazing month-by-month stickers shaped like neckties} in my pajamas. Regardless of locale, the clientele at the Mart is always intriguing at that hour. He eventually settled into a routine in the hotel before we had to move to the camper, which turned out to be his 4th new home in fewer than 3 weeks.
{Side note in our travels: whoever drew the roads in the state to which we traveled must have been inebriated. Too many twists and turns when a straight line would have been sufficient. And for the love, why would someone make a sharp turn as you crest a steep hill in the woods?}
The camper proved to be the toughest place to stay, even though it was filled with our things, our food, our comforts. Being confined to that small of a space was exhausting. With each passing day, the walls seemed to cave in. We were free to leave the camper, but we were in an unfamiliar area with a newborn, so our options were limited. We ventured out on occasion, but we mainly stayed inside while we waited for the all-clear to head home.
When a child is adopted across state lines, both the birth state and the eventual home state have to communicate and grant approval through the ICPC process. We learned that our packet was headed to our home state within 36 hours of our meeting our son, so we were hopeful that we would get the all clear much sooner than the initial 2-3 week window that we were initially told to anticipate. I was granted a short leave for work, so there would have been a point at which I had to come home regardless, even if that meant my family was not with me.
We knew that Friday was our absolute deadline for having our prayers answered, and as Thursday afternoon rolled around, we began to get antsy. We reached out to our social worker and learned of some specific hangups that I will not mention here for the sake of my family's privacy and safety. But we took to social media to ask our friends to pray for this specific thing, and boom, that piece of the puzzle was in place by the end of the working day. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for our friends who interceded with us. I was humbled by God's goodness.
Friday came, and my anxiety was at its peak. Would it happen? Would the pieces fall into place as needed? Would we have to go grocery shopping again? {Guess what? We did. I won't spoil it. I promise.} In my anxiousness, I pulled out my adult coloring because I didn't have another good book to read with me, and I needed to soothe myself. When I finished my picture, I posted it on instagram with an anxiety-related caption. A dear Godly friend commented "It's happening. TODAY!" I later asked her if that was a specific word that she received from the Lord for us or whether she was speaking that in faith; she responded that it was the latter. My faith tank, sadly, was running on empty. I was in tears at the thought that I would have to leave my family to return to work, and it was barely lunch time. We once again asked our friends and family for a very specific prayer to be answered. I was beside myself with anticipation. We prayed together, and I simply told R that she would have to have faith for me, because I was running on empty. Within minutes of this prayer, we got THE call from our social worker that we were headed home.
We of course hastily packed the cars, loaded up our baby, and headed home. I have never been so happy to see I-65 southbound in my entire life. We got home to elated neighbors, a clean house thanks to our precious family, and more packages for this little man than we knew what to do with. After dropping our luggage, we did what was most important: EAT. In a full circle moment, we revisited the place we ate on our last night as just us. It was purely magical to be home in our space, adjusting to each other.
Then we attempted to find normal. Or something resembling normal. I've gotta say. My little man is a champ. He is such a chill baby unless he's naked and getting his diaper changed. I'm seriously considering investing in a set of stirrups for diaper time, because he will not keep his legs still. Ever. He sleeps really well, and my wife and I have worked out a system in which I take the first feeding and change of the night & she takes the second so I can at least be remotely rested for work the next day. It works for us, but we know it's all unpredictable. What works today may not work tomorrow. And that's ok, because that's pretty much the journey of parenthood.
In my short time in the realm of parenting, I've learned a lot. No one, and I mean NO ONE has it figured out. We can read as many expert-written books, researched blogs, or parenting magazines as we can get our hands on, but we will still never know it all. And guess what, y'all? We don't have to! That's the beauty of parenting. It's all so full of love & grace that we don't have to have all the answers. It's like a game of "Who's Line is it Anyway?" where the rules are made up & the points don't matter. Fellow parents, if you think you've got it all figured out, check your ego at the door and spend some time in the floor playing with your kid. Please. And each and every child is wonderfully unique and different, so what worked for all 17 of the babies on your mom's side may not work for my son. And that is OK! I've also learned that God equips parents to survive on way less sleep than we ever thought imaginable. That's not to say I'm not sleeping at all - seriously, he lets us go at least 4-5 hours in between feedings. He's great. I've also been granted patience when I needed it the most, an increased capacity for love of my son and my rockstar wife, and grace for the moment.
Who cares that I haven't read a physical book in over a week or that there's a stack of ironing that I need to do? Right now, there's a precious one-month old strapped to my chest in my sling while I write this and cry over a weeks-old episode of Grey's. And all is right in my world.
"Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him." - Psalm 127:3
A little over 2 weeks ago, we were traveling to another state to meet this ball of life for the first time. I'll spare you the histrionics of that meeting, but a summary of the emotions can be described as such: nervousness, shock, fear, elation, tears, joy, tears, more fear, tears, and the reality that this is what we've worked for. {Also, more tears.}
Then reality began to sink in, so we did what any normal Millennial couple does: head to Target! Strangely in spite of all we packed, we didn't bring formula. {Praise the Lord for those specials they run where you buy 15 of one product to get a $2 gift card!} We were in a hotel for the first few nights that we were out of state, which is an experience on its own - an even more stressful one when you're carrying a newborn with you.
Our first night included, but was not limited to: multiple attempts at cosleeping because the bassinet just wasn't cutting it, several trips to the conference room on the first floor as to not disturb our neighbors, and a 2 AM Wal-Mart run for gripe water {and an impulse purchase of those amazing month-by-month stickers shaped like neckties} in my pajamas. Regardless of locale, the clientele at the Mart is always intriguing at that hour. He eventually settled into a routine in the hotel before we had to move to the camper, which turned out to be his 4th new home in fewer than 3 weeks.
{Side note in our travels: whoever drew the roads in the state to which we traveled must have been inebriated. Too many twists and turns when a straight line would have been sufficient. And for the love, why would someone make a sharp turn as you crest a steep hill in the woods?}
The camper proved to be the toughest place to stay, even though it was filled with our things, our food, our comforts. Being confined to that small of a space was exhausting. With each passing day, the walls seemed to cave in. We were free to leave the camper, but we were in an unfamiliar area with a newborn, so our options were limited. We ventured out on occasion, but we mainly stayed inside while we waited for the all-clear to head home.
When a child is adopted across state lines, both the birth state and the eventual home state have to communicate and grant approval through the ICPC process. We learned that our packet was headed to our home state within 36 hours of our meeting our son, so we were hopeful that we would get the all clear much sooner than the initial 2-3 week window that we were initially told to anticipate. I was granted a short leave for work, so there would have been a point at which I had to come home regardless, even if that meant my family was not with me.
We knew that Friday was our absolute deadline for having our prayers answered, and as Thursday afternoon rolled around, we began to get antsy. We reached out to our social worker and learned of some specific hangups that I will not mention here for the sake of my family's privacy and safety. But we took to social media to ask our friends to pray for this specific thing, and boom, that piece of the puzzle was in place by the end of the working day. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for our friends who interceded with us. I was humbled by God's goodness.
Friday came, and my anxiety was at its peak. Would it happen? Would the pieces fall into place as needed? Would we have to go grocery shopping again? {Guess what? We did. I won't spoil it. I promise.} In my anxiousness, I pulled out my adult coloring because I didn't have another good book to read with me, and I needed to soothe myself. When I finished my picture, I posted it on instagram with an anxiety-related caption. A dear Godly friend commented "It's happening. TODAY!" I later asked her if that was a specific word that she received from the Lord for us or whether she was speaking that in faith; she responded that it was the latter. My faith tank, sadly, was running on empty. I was in tears at the thought that I would have to leave my family to return to work, and it was barely lunch time. We once again asked our friends and family for a very specific prayer to be answered. I was beside myself with anticipation. We prayed together, and I simply told R that she would have to have faith for me, because I was running on empty. Within minutes of this prayer, we got THE call from our social worker that we were headed home.
We of course hastily packed the cars, loaded up our baby, and headed home. I have never been so happy to see I-65 southbound in my entire life. We got home to elated neighbors, a clean house thanks to our precious family, and more packages for this little man than we knew what to do with. After dropping our luggage, we did what was most important: EAT. In a full circle moment, we revisited the place we ate on our last night as just us. It was purely magical to be home in our space, adjusting to each other.
Then we attempted to find normal. Or something resembling normal. I've gotta say. My little man is a champ. He is such a chill baby unless he's naked and getting his diaper changed. I'm seriously considering investing in a set of stirrups for diaper time, because he will not keep his legs still. Ever. He sleeps really well, and my wife and I have worked out a system in which I take the first feeding and change of the night & she takes the second so I can at least be remotely rested for work the next day. It works for us, but we know it's all unpredictable. What works today may not work tomorrow. And that's ok, because that's pretty much the journey of parenthood.
In my short time in the realm of parenting, I've learned a lot. No one, and I mean NO ONE has it figured out. We can read as many expert-written books, researched blogs, or parenting magazines as we can get our hands on, but we will still never know it all. And guess what, y'all? We don't have to! That's the beauty of parenting. It's all so full of love & grace that we don't have to have all the answers. It's like a game of "Who's Line is it Anyway?" where the rules are made up & the points don't matter. Fellow parents, if you think you've got it all figured out, check your ego at the door and spend some time in the floor playing with your kid. Please. And each and every child is wonderfully unique and different, so what worked for all 17 of the babies on your mom's side may not work for my son. And that is OK! I've also learned that God equips parents to survive on way less sleep than we ever thought imaginable. That's not to say I'm not sleeping at all - seriously, he lets us go at least 4-5 hours in between feedings. He's great. I've also been granted patience when I needed it the most, an increased capacity for love of my son and my rockstar wife, and grace for the moment.
Who cares that I haven't read a physical book in over a week or that there's a stack of ironing that I need to do? Right now, there's a precious one-month old strapped to my chest in my sling while I write this and cry over a weeks-old episode of Grey's. And all is right in my world.
"Children are a gift from the LORD; they are a reward from him." - Psalm 127:3
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