The Foot of My Stairs

I'm standing at the base of the stairs in our home, patiently watching my daughter...

go up the stairs
    go down the stairs
        go up the stairs
            go down the stairs
                go up the stairs
                    go down the stairs
                        until an attitude adjustment is made.

I wonder to myself..."Why am I doing this? Why am I standing here making my daughter go up and down the stairs until her attitude changes? This is going to take forever. It would be so much easier to continue what I've been doing." In the next moment I realize why I am here and that I'm lying to myself. It is not easier. I am here because I am reaping the consequences of my actions. For the past few months, I have been passively sitting by and letting her daddy deal with her because she is hard and she exasperates me. I've coped through each day, avoiding making her do anything she really needs to. The Driver gets to do the dirty work when he's home.

Seemed easy enough in the moments of coping, but now I don't just have a child on my hands that is simply tough, I've got a daughter that has attitude times ten, glares at me, mouths off at me and I'm pretty sure would say the word, "hate" if she knew to say it. Sigh. What I've done in my moments of not wanting to deal with her, is create a fissure in our relationship which is sure to crack wide open if I don't do something about it. Every time I have not pushed back with boundaries, let her get away with attitude, spoken without thinking first and walked away without offering physical touch, I have done damage. I have confirmed to my Daughter of Purpose what she believes about herself...that she is not worth it. Sigh again. I could kick myself for what I've done in an effort to make it "easier on myself." No wonder she adores her Daddy and pushes away from me. I have done this and no one can fix it but me.

This path back to a restored relationship is much harder than if I would've just done the small bit of hard work in the moment. A self-controlled tongue, a word of encouragement, an embrace amidst a shared moment of laughter, a standing of ground until the task was accomplished with a right attitude, a knee bent in prayer asking for help in the moment. I'm not perfect, but I know in my heart of hearts that I could've done a better job.

Sweet Mama, as I stand at the bottom of the stairs in my home working to get back to where I need to be with my daughter, I wonder if you've taken the easy road before too. Maybe you're there now. Let me share something with you that occurred to me in the midst of the battlefield with my DOP recently. My husband cannot fight this battle for me. He cannot restore this relationship. He cannot earn her respect for me. He cannot make her listen to me. He cannot build the bond through physical touch for me. She will not assume that his words of love spoken to her come from me too. I cannot draft behind my husband like a cyclist, letting him take the front wind and me hoping to just coast along behind enjoying the benefits. It doesn't work that way. I must also do the hard work because you see, if I don't, I won't get to reap the benefits. I won't eat the sweet fruit of relationship with my daughter--only he will. Building relationship is hard work, but it is necessary. Do the hard work regardless of whether your child is adopted or not. These principles apply no matter where your child came from. I have had to build relationship with each and every one of my children and honestly...I've wanted to fast forward with each one...I've wanted the end product, not feeling like doing the work in between. Even after all these years and all these kids, I still wish for the easy road. You can see where that has gotten me...even when I know better.

If you need me, I'll be at the foot of my stairs.

Note: Since I wrote this post, it has been a long, but good & profitable week with my DOP. We are on eye-level again, but I know that my work is not done. This daily battle will most likely endure a life time, but I press on because my precious Daughter of Purpose is a gift.

Unexpected Vision

“The remedy is in the retina.” – Ann Voskamp

Yesterday, as I was talking with the Lord and trying to iron out a few things in which I have been struggling, I shared with Him that I felt like I needed to see more of Jesus in my daily routines. I told Him of how I want to see Him, but yet I am struggling.  Instantly, I had this flashback to Seeing the Face of Jesus, something of which I wrote awhile back. My own words played vaguely through my mind, reminding me that every time I speak words of life, wipe up the table for the millionth time, remind someone patiently of what they need to do, make another cup of honey tea for a sick one or offer another cup of medicine without huffing, I am seeing Jesus' face in every moment. As Ann Voskamp gently reminds me as I read through her book for the second time, God is here. I am in His sanctuary.

When I woke this morning with all this motivating me out of bed, never did I expect to see His face so close and in such ways.

I saw Him in the face of my man as he lay sleepy by my side, breathing. 11 years ago when his lung collapsed, I saw the reality of each breath of my husband to be a miracle. He is still my miracle.

I saw Him in the curious faces of two of my children as they worked side by side to look up the meaning of words in the dictionary.

I saw Him in the lit up face of DOP as she shared with our social worker, here for a home visit for our homestudy, about how excited she is to get a new sister...she won't have to be the dreaded youngest anymore.

I saw Him, I saw Him, I saw Him.

When I woke up this morning, those are the types of ways I expected to see Him, but what I didn't expect was to see Him in the battleground. I didn't expect to see His side, but in His divine way, He chose to use my Daughter of Purpose to give me a glimpse into what He goes through each day to make sure I see Him.

I saw Him as I sat side by side with DOP as she painstakingly did her school work and fought every stroke of the pencil, as she put on her act that tries to trick me into believing the same lies she does--that she's stupid and not worthy...but I didn't passively sit by this time. Instead, I took her face in my hands and chose to speak only words that make souls grow stronger.(Ann Voskamp) I told her of how I don't believe her act for a moment. But that I believe in her. I believe she is smart, beautiful, capable and worthy. I reminded her of the few moments that she has shown me the unbelievable ability she has to accomplish her schoolwork when she chooses to believe in herself. I reminded her that in every moment she must choose to believe the truth and not the ugly lies that filter through her head.

I saw Him as the tears pooled in her eyes, as she wrestled with which voice to believe.

I saw Him as she gave into the lies and it was evident in every move she made, her body language speaking enough.

I saw Him as I patiently worked with her, to break the will that refused to listen, as she walked up and down the stairs. Me carefully balancing the breaking of the will, but not breaking the spirit and all the while my Mama's heart breaking.

I saw Him as she yielded, proving me right. When she chooses to believe the voice of truth, she can accomplish amazing things!

I thought the battle was done.

He kept my eyes open to see His perspective as I lay on top of my daughter, face touching face, to protect her from herself as she pitched a fit of rage, flailing at anything within reach, screaming and crying at the top of her lungs, refusing to give in.

I saw Him through tears as I spoke calmly to her in brief moments of silence as she gasped for air before beginning to wail again. Challenging her not give into the lies, reminding her that I am her Mommy. I am not an orphanage worker that changes day after day, shift after shift or worse...one that never returns. I spoke into her that I am here day after day and I will not change. I am not going anywhere. Because of this, I know her. I know her potential. I know which voices she is listening to and reminded her of the same words I had spoken this morning. I patiently laid atop her grasping my moments to speak truth over her and waiting for her to yield to my voice and not the one that has been playing through her mind all these years.

I saw Him in her tears as she slowly yielded herself to what I continued to speak over her.

I saw Him as she realized that I was willing to fight for her, not only in life, but in the battleground of her mind.

I saw Him in her voice as she choked out, "Mommy, I believe you."

I saw Him in the aftermath, that embrace where she actually hugged back and the snuggling in my green chair as I stroked her hair and read her a story.

I saw Him in the spontaneous kiss she gave me.

As I have walked this winter journey and struggled with feeling down, I see now that He's been here all along. He used my Daughter of Purpose to show me what He has done for me each and every day over the past few months, speaking over me and waiting for me to yield. I saw myself reflected in my daughter's eyes and realized we are more alike than I had previously thought. I have a lot to learn from her.

Every day is a battle ground for my mind, just like my daughter. I believe the only reason I had any type of clarity today is because of those few who have been invited into my struggle and have begun to do battle for me through prayer. Now that I see clearly, I need to turn and do likewise for my daughter.

“The remedy is in the retina.” – Ann Voskamp

The Power of My Voice

As I sit on the sidelines of the sports field, I am engulfed with the noise of those around me cheering on the players. It is a sea of voices and I wonder if my voice will be heard--why even bother? Yet when I join my voice with the crowd, my child turns and our eyes lock. They have heard my voice above all others.

It is a strange and curious thing the way this happens, but yet it happens time and again and I cannot discount it as a fluke. My children hear my voice and can distinguish it from others. This is what I want. Isn't that what you want? For your child to be able to discern your voice from the crowd?

From the time my children were conceived, they have been hearing my voice and they know it well. I have used it to speak into their lives in good times and bad. I have used it to tell them how much I love them, to encourage them, to teach them, laugh and even sing with them. Sadly, I have even been human enough to misuse this gift to speak in harsh tones or let my sarcasm get the best of me. That is certainly not the voice I want them to hear the most, but sometimes it happens.

This gift did not just happen overnight. It is a gift that was earned over time, with much hard work and practice. A lot of blood, sweat and tears went into it--a pouring out from both sides. It is a foundation that has been laid with each stitch of training I have sewn into the relationship between they and I.

Obviously it began in the womb, but beyond that--when they finally made their grand entrance into this life--I labored to speak words of life into them, shaping and molding who they are. I also purposely set up "games" that teach them to come when I call and to respond to me with a simple, "Yes, Mommy", "Coming, Mommy" or even just an acknowledgement of "Just a minute, Mom."

When I laid out these opportunities to train them to the sound of my voice, I knew what I was doing, but yet I didn't know what I was doing. I knew that I wanted them to be obedient, but I greatly underestimated the power that my voice has spoken over their life and how that simple training permeates everything. My voice is powerful. My voice makes them turn and respond. My voice encourages them and helps them to press on when they are uncertain. My voice sings over them. My voice laughs, giggles and experiences joy with them. My voice comforts. My voice displays how I am feeling so they know without even seeing me how I am doing and vice versa.

"The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit." ~ Proverbs 18:21

My voice speaks life to my children, well...most of the time. My voice has the power to speak life, but sometimes, in my humanness, it speaks death. My voice has the power to cut my children to the quick. Especially since I know them so well, it can penetrate them right where it will hurt most. My voice is a powerful weapon that can be mis-used to wound if I am not careful. I must think first and choose my words carefully because my voice weighs heavy in their life. Even greater power comes to those who know and understand the magnitude of the power they have in their voice and work to use it appropriately and well. I have had times of wondering if my hard work will pay off--will I even see any fruit from my labors? I have wondered it rotten fruit will be the harvest.

As I sit on the sidelines of the sports field, I lock eyes with my child and realize that I am eating the fruit and it is sweet.

Digging Out My Weapon of Choice

This is a repost because I need a piece of my own medicine right now. I think it's funny the way God uses my own writing to meet me where I'm at. Lately, as my mom puts it, I've felt like I have a target on my back. The very scripture that has been surfacing in my brain in response to that, is the one I referenced in my original writing, coming full circle--imagine that! So I'm digging out my weapon of choice that somehow has gotten buried. I'm dusting it off and adding in a few more verses that I need to permeate my soul. Then it got me thinking...maybe you could use this reminder too.

I wonder, do you have one of these in your home?  It's the simplest thing, yet it one of the most valuable things I own.  When the chips are down and I'm having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and I'm thinking of moving to Australia...well, this is my weapon of choice to combat that bad day.  I don't even know what it's called, but I know what it's full of.  It's full of God's word.  It's full of my handwritten verses of choice.  Different seasons have led me to write down different things.  Some encourage me, some focus me and some are what I'm specifically trying to memorize, but all have a purpose that means something to ME.  If you happen to have one, I bet yours if completely different.

When the chips are down (and even when they are not) this spiral bound little book of 3x5 cards is my best friend.  Yes, I could carry my Bible around with me, but what I love about my "little book" is that it has all of the verses I reference in my mind all in one place so I can find them quickly. When I want to find that verse about not being weary, I just a flip a few pages and I'm there.  When I want to post a certain verse in my face to read throughout the day, I set it in the kitchen or in my bathroom so I am forced to read it over and over again.  When I miss out on my quiet time, I grab my "little book" and carry it with me wherever I am and flip through each verse, helping me focus my mind on where it needs to be for that day.  All of my favorite verses are at my fingertips.  I don't have to flip through the whole Bible and remember exactly where that verse was from 2 years ago.  It's right there in my "little book" waiting for me.

Ephesians 6:10-17

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

Winter

On this night, as I drive along out in the boon-docks, I see the countryside differently than I ever have before. Maybe the moonlight is different. Maybe my frame of mind is just different. For as long as I can remember, I have always been surrounded by fields of growing things. Much of the produce for our country is grown here so it's all just a part of my scenery, taken for granted. I don't really see it anymore, but tonight two images stand out.

As moonlight spills out over the rows and rows of barren trees, going on for miles, it strikes me how each and every one of these trees is frozen in a pose. Each has been pruned back--standing, reaching toward Heaven, as if in an expectant, waiting pose. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting to come to life again. Waiting to bloom. If trees could think, it's as if there's no doubt in their mind that the blooming will come although they currently stand bare, naked, ugly. Their day for beauty is as sure as the dawn.

I am in that place--pruned back, stripped and bare. Feeling dead and wondering when the blooming will begin.

Further down the road, my eye grabs the image of the old, broken down, gnarled tree--also bare, worn out, looking anything but beautiful. Yet intertwined down low in it's branches is something, full of life, blooming. Such contrast.

I wonder, is that me? Worn down, broken, exposed, gnarled, crippled by life, but yet areas of me are blooming despite the core of me?

I am still trying to decide which one symbolizes me more in this place where I am at. I wish I could share openly about this place, but suffice it to say that it is winter.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens..." ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1

Maybe I'm a mixture of these images that play through my mind. God's word promises me that this is merely a season. I may feel like the inner part of me is going to shrivel up and die before Spring comes, but yet I have hope--I am like those trees that are waiting in expectation. I know without a doubt that God will bring the blooming again.

Yet as I trudge through each day of this harsh winter season, I must find ways of blooming, no matter how small, for my survival. That is why each day I push myself to do the hard eucharisteo.

Eucharisteo always precedes the miracle. ~ Ann Voskamp

Daily I pry open my eyes to seek out eucharisteo even when it hurts because I need a miracle. I need something to get me through this season. I need to find grace, thanksgiving and JOY no matter what.

152 - Crocheting in the warm sunshine.
153 - New family pictures finally in frames.
154 - Simplicity of a C*stco hot dog.

157 - Sunlight warming my toes in flip-flops.

164 - The natural way DOP grabs onto my hand as we walk together.
165- Hugs abundant, wiping away the grumpies.

199 - Kids who help around the house without being asked. Done as a gift to Mama.
200- A big, fluffy bed I don't want to get out of.

202- The folding of Littlest One into my lap as I type.
203 - Young eyes reading, opening up a whole new world.

206 - Yielding to the pleas of a child to come play.
207 - Eager ears listening as I read out loud inside a creatively built fort.

211 - Holding hands with my man.

217 - The smile of my man, just for me, from across the room.

232 - A basket of freshly folded laundry done by the loving hands of The Talker while Mommy has a headache.
233 - Two brothers conspiring together to do good.

237 - Every hard work step that DOP takes because each one is a miracle.
238 - The whir of the sewing machine.

240 - Hearing His voice in the most ordinary of places.

Some days and some seasons, eucharisteo is easy to find. Yet there are moments like these when I can barely breathe because the pain cuts so deep. These are the moments when I cling to the searching and finding of what will bring buds of new life if I just press on--clinging to eucharisteo in the hard. These gifts of being able to see beyond myself are like seeds of hope. Seeds of promise that this season shall pass and something beautiful awaits me.

I stretch my hands toward Heaven in expectation of the blooming...