Speak Life

I awake to the familiar dread. Stuck in reality...no more moments of escape. Yes, someone has to make breakfast, teach the children, manage the schedule, run the miles, clean the messes. Me. I lay still and hear the hushed voices down the hall. Whispers, giggling, a hard-toned loud whisper. Three girls hoping their Momma won't hear their freedom and come to spoil. Three who find pure pleasure in the naughty. Three sensory-seekers that consume and overwhelm. I hear the Whisper in my mind, "you have all you need". I half smile, honestly half smirk, and arise. I mutter aloud, "Yes Lord, I do, just having trouble believing today...again."

I have been praying, pleading for change.

We, my four and I, experience our norm. A few moments of kindness. A mishap. One yell, another; a threat; an outburst; a consequence. A few moments of kindness. Another mishap..... Repeat. Over and over we tumble. We are familiar with our dance. I search deep in Promise's eyes at breakfast, then Faith's. Joy looks back as I search hers; hers always smiling. Hope won't look up - avoidance. I imagine they all want change too. This is a rare morning when The Warrior Daddy is home, destined to work into the late night. He looks deep into my eyes. We share the experience of needed change. We are surviving together. He gives our four a stern face, reminds them to obey, reminds them of the consequence of not. They look intently, sit a bit taller at our old farm table. He gets up and disappears down the hall. They dance away.

I manage to stumble through another morning of Kindergarten. I rush through lunch. I am closer to my scheduled escape run, the one I dreaded this morning, but now desperately need. Standing at the sink, I glance sideways, spying on my four. A tongue sticking out, a sly hit, a giggle across the table. Hope warns sternly. He is harder than I, and my heart is sad. A 12-year-old man-child who is so frustrated, his normal everyday a far cry from normal. What is "normal" anyway? That question perplexes me and provokes a twinge of anger. I am tired of the comparison. I know He has written this moment, this sadness I feel. I glance up at the windowsill, at the purple 365 Bible Promises for WOMEN perpetual calendar. It reads: February 27: God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work (2 Corinthians 9:8 NIV). In this thing? At this time? I will abound in every good work? I thank Him for the reminder again, I have all I need. He is always good. He is in control of even this moment when I query.

And finally, Joy tucked in her room lining up cars, Faith and Promise down for an afternoon nap ( ;)- synonym for forced quiet time on bed), and Hope fighting with his language arts, I run hard. The treadmill and I do blend in perfect harmony on certain days. I try and fail to open Bible Gateway on the ipad. I settle for Netflix, and 38 minutes in, just at the climax of the show, Netflix freezes too. Unplanned interruption for me, opportunity for Him. He knows me so well. With my sensory-avoiding system awake, still running, I hit the round button on the right and click on the Music icon. He has been waiting to speak, and Toby Mac sings the lyrics clear, and my mind jolts. This is a holy moment, Jesus whispering each word into my heart. Eye On It, #5 Speak Life.

...it's crazy, amazing, we can turn a heart through the words we say
mountains crumble with every syllable,
hope can live or die

so speak life, speak life
to the deadest darkest night
speak life, speak life
when the sun won't shine and you don't know why
look into the eyes of the broken hearted
watch them come alive as soon as you speak hope
you speak love
you speak life

some days the tongue gets twisted, other days my thoughts just fall apart
I do, I don't, I will, I won't
it's like I'm drownin' in the deep
well it's crazy to imagine words from our lips as the arms of compassion...

I listen, inventory words, and tears fall. He gently asks, "will you speak life to them? Will you speak life when you feel in the depth of the deadest darkest night? Will you speak life when the sun won't shine and you don't know why? Will you put your broken heart aside, and speak life to theirs? Will you extend arms of compassion?"

I hit repeat and look up at the faded yellow index card tacked to the bulletin board facing the treadmill. I read the Words, and breath in Him.

"Therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, put on tender mercies, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering; bearing with one another, and forgiving one another, if anyone has a complaint against another; even as Christ forgave you, so you also must do. But above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfection. And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to which also you were called in one body; and be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord. And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him." (Colossians 3:12-17 NKJV)

Speak life with tender mercy, kindness, humility, meekness, longsuffering. Bear with them, forgive them as He forgives me. Put on love, the bond of perfection. I desire the perfect bond with the four, the perfect bond of love. Let the peace of Him rule - not the peace of me. And there it is, just as Ann so eloquently pointed out, "be thankful". Be thankful, because I do believe too that thankfulness preceeds the miracle. Admonish and teach them with psalms, hymns, spiritual songs. Sing (a lovely manner of speaking) over them with the grace in my heart He craves. Do everything in His name, giving thanks to the Father. Speak every word in His name, with thanksgiving.

My words, a catalyst to the change I'm pleading for?

My ipad music is set to random selection. The next song begins, #7 Lose Myself. I feel His nudge, His charge upon my heart.

A few hours later, typing away on the computer, I pick up the ipad again and hit the dictionary icon. The definition for compassion is right there on the search bar. I read His answer. I glimpse the reflection of the wood plaque standing tall above the sliding glass doors on the computer screen. Carefully painted 10-year-old words read, "Lead me on and I will run after You." The old familiar tune plays in my mind and brings a smile. Speak life....

Grace Kisses

Today was a less than stellar behavior day. By 1:45, I texted for prayer, and honestly tried to stiffle my thoughts of "how can this day get any worse!" Circumstances can always get worse, but perspective...well, perspective is beginning to change my life.

I had the pleasure of painting with two beautiful 3-year-olds today. Kaitlyn, a gorgeous Downs, who when asked her favorite color, signed orange immediately. Mason, a severe dyspraxic, whose smile will melt even the most frozen, and whose increased motor skills astounded me to tears. Signing with little ones - communication. It is His grace flowing over me and kissing my soul.

I listened to a Dad pour out his story, of his precious one's broken heart, miracle of surgery, his desire to provide, and his family's "miracle story" of His provision. Another "miracle story"! His eyes whispered a journey I have already traveled. Another grace kiss.

I am so stinking blessed! My hands can whisper and shout without my lips parting. My Joy can part her lips and speak. My Promise's stone heart is beginning to deteriorate. My Faith is searching for her Momma's heart. My Jubilee is in Grace's hands. My Hope is now a Man-Child. Grace kisses. Thank You for grace kisses.

Surrendering My Running Shoes

I hobbled through a 4 mile run this morning - literally hobbled. I know this to be true because I observed my shadow dip unevenly in and out repeatedly. Reaching about mile 1, my leg was screaming at me, reminding me something is still wrong. I pressed on, hoping with the repetitive and stretching motion my muscle would loosen up and the pain would subside. At about mile 2, I determined my mind to take over. I tried to forget the pain, letting the endurance side of my thoughts prevail. At mile 3, I knew I should stop, but my pride took over and carried me right through the last mile. This incident would really not be such a big deal if it were a one time occurance. I've been living with this injury for about three weeks now. And yes, I've been faithfully running 4 to 5 miles three days a week for the past three weeks. Habits are so hard to break. Especially the ones that feed into my false sense of security.

I realize this is just a metaphor for how I've been living my life for the past year. In a sense, I'm walking in denial. I've been a runner now for about 26 years. Twenty-six years gives me plenty of experience to know when to stop and let an injury heal, or at least slow down and reevaluate my training plans. But....I like my routine. I'm addicted to my "runner's high". I'm a terrific pretender when I hurt. I want everything in my world to be alright. I want everyone to think I'm fine. Sometimes I'd rather suffer through intense pain than admit my world is shifting.

I set up this blog to write about my precious Meekia. It's been so theraputic, and a strong reminder of His constant presence and goodness. My struggles with Joy have been so profound, so personal, and quite frankly hard. I suppose I thought her challenges would be the defining obstacles in my life. Each step we survive together brings us closer to Him, and takes my mind to a place of completion. I can honestly say there are seasons I never want to travel in again. I cherish the big "sighs of relief" moments. Those big "sighs of relief" were earned through much pain, struggle, and tears.

So, when sensory-integration disorder began to stick it's terrible head back out with my little Promise I pretended not to see it. When my little Faith revealed she also is in the battle, I started praying fervently against it. This time instead of staring this disorder down and putting on my gloves for battle, I retreated into denial. I pleaded with God to let this one pass. I reminded Him (as if He needs a reminder!) just all I've walked through with Joy. I showed Him again my excellent plan of attack and how well our schedule is working for Joy. I pleaded with Him to keep us from change. I told Him I couldn't bear the weight of living with three sensory-seekers. He let me cry. He let me roll around on the floor and kick and scream. He answered my prayer and gave me some more training. And now, He's commanding me to get up off the floor and stop pretending.

Hate is such a strong word, but I hate sensory-integration disorder! I crave control. I crave order. I crave acceptance. Sensory-integration disorder has no regard for any of these. It reeks havoc on anything in its path. It is rearing its ugly head out and revealing a much different side this time. I feel blindsided, unprepared, and deep feelings of hurt. I'm ashamed to say I've actually laid blame this time. As if blaming another could actually help my Promise or Faith. My girls' stories are so hard, and so unfair. I've been "running" and fighting the way I was trained with Joy, but "running" just isn't working this time.

I thank my precious Redeemer for the metaphor. Starting today, I need not live in denial. I am afraid, but He promises I have nothing to fear but Him. He, the great I AM is here. This time I don't think He's going to let me run, and run, and run, and keep running the endurance race to the finish. I'm going to have to lay aside my stubborn pride,stop pretending I'm not hurt, and fall into Him. I trust He is refining me, refining them, and making all things new (Isaiah 48). I trust He withholds no good thing when I chose to give Him my heart and walk uprightly (Isaiah 48:5,11).

Hope

I am struck by how many times I have began a post over the past month, only to find myself irritated beyond belief, unable to write. I am a person with so many words fluttering around in my head. I always have something to say.

I have been so angry lately. Angry at my situation. Angry that nothing seems to ever change, regardless of so much effort; so much time and energy. The truth is the enemy reopened a door from my past. Even though I did not walk through that door, my heart and emotions still fell right back into a dark pit - just where the enemy wants me, with questions swirling all around me. I felt like I was on a pursuit again. I was deceived. I was just in a decorated pit.

Injustice is so hard. My wonderful husband is always reminding our children that life is not fair. He is so right. I am grateful that it is not fair, my eternity with my Precious Redeemer would not be sealed if life were fair. I just have the hardest time keeping myself calm and quiet when it affects my precious little ones. And, I am fiercely protective of one. She just seems to get the raw end of most deals. Or at least it seems so, in my feeble, narrow-minded thoughts.

There I go again, speaking without permission, without full understanding.

"He was oppressed and He was afflicted,
Yet He opened not His mouth;
He was led as a lamb to the slaughter,
And as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
So He opened not His mouth." Isaiah 53:7

In my anger, and word-filled mind, I haven't had an unoccupied thought to see even a glimpse of His plan. I finally surrendered today and listened. Oh, how I am humbled!

My precious Joy truly doesn't qualify for any medical assistance in this state according to how the waivers are written. She has been deemed by our insurance company, and the state as "unworthy" to receive any speech, occupational, or physical therapies. Yet, she doesn't speak intelligibly, has extreme problems with simple tasks such as eating, toileting, and writing, and must wear leg braces to keep her heels down when she walks. She is eight years old.

I had dreams of becoming a writer, an accomplished artist, teaching again in the projects. I thought I had gladly given it all up for the call to teach my own children. These dreams have resurfaced so much lately; the enemy taunting me, reminding me of the cost of walking away. I have harbored bitterness once again, mostly directed toward myself, for trusting that I would find contentment and deep fulfillment in my calling. I have been angry at the lack of help, the lack of funds to give Meekia the services she needs. I have been walking in denial as I watch one of my little ones starting to follow in similar patterns as Meekia with her sensory system. I have felt so overwhelmed, so unworthy of the challenge. I have been faithfully following His lead and no one is noticing, or cares.

A shift in perspective is just what I've been needing.

In my surrender, He has been delivering small accolades all day. Just maybe, this blog qualifies me to call myself an "author". If not, the countless letters I've written to help provide funding for my girls music classes, or the new special needs park right down the street counts. My artwork has sold, in auctions to provide needed therapy services to my girls and others. He has given me opportunities to create logos, paint murals. And, I do teach every day. My children are not currently living in the projects, but three of them very well could be. Hasn't He been faithful to bring all my dreams to fruition?

And just maybe, I can start to grasp the reality that He really chose me to be the speech therapist, the occupational therapist, and the physical therapist to my precious Joy - and I don't have to be paid.

He has been tugging on a rope all day, slowly pulling me up from this empty, dry well. Thank You dear Lord Jesus for not giving up on me! I am Yours. I remember that early 2 a.m. morning, four years ago, when You called me to boldly lay it all down, be quiet before others, and follow You into this current path of teaching my precious ones. I cherish the remembrance of hope You embedded into the core of my heart. I promised to follow where You lead. Thank You for never letting go and holding me to my promise.

As I look towards You, with my face pointed like a flint, I can hear Your words dear Lord. Thank You for noticing. (Isaiah 50:7; Isaiah 43:10; Heb. 13:5; Jer. 23:5)

Letter to My Pre-Adoptive Self

(written October 3, 2011)

Dear Mandi,

Adoption is for you. You have been called by the LORD GOD to embark on this journey. I know you are excited, nervous, and hopeful. Your children, all of them, are beautiful and precious gifts from God Himself. Adoption is a noble calling - and you are one of the blessed to be called. Revel in your calling. Feel your purpose and have pride for a moment. Now...read the rest of this letter.

Adoption will break your heart. You won't be able to understand the grieving process you will have to walk through for your precious girls' birth moms. You will be torn in two with feelings of loyalty towards yourself and a birth mom who you do not really know. You will struggle with feelings of jealousy because your precious girls did not grow in your own body. Your girls will ask you "why?" God decided to allow their brother this gift, but not them.

You will always love your girls' beautiful brown skin. When they start to ask "why?" they are the only ones around them with this characteristic, you will sometimes struggle for the right answers. You will live among others who say culturally inappropriate words, not even aware. You will be judged by others, especially other black men and women, when you are in the community with your precious family. People will ask your children inappropriate questions, at very young ages, setting up the stage for the enemy to come in and make them question their worth and validity. You will struggle some when teaching them about their culture, because after all, you are a white woman. Your girls will always be "white" blacks, yet this is all part of His divine plan for them. The pressure will be great at times, and you'll grieve.

Even though you think you're invincible - you will learn you are not. You can be broken, and you will be over and over again. Your greatest source of pain will be in the mystery surrounding your precious girls' special needs. You will have beautiful twin girls, who you always knew in your heart He planned for you. They will be girls - flowers, dancing, singing, dresses. You will learn to love pink! You will, however, be invited, only at times, into their world. They began their lives together and find solace, joy, and comfort in each other. You will feel left out at times, yet, at other times you will feel blessed. They are stubborn, strong-willed souls and will physically wear you down. You will have to be on-guard all the time. They are curious, honest (brutally), and very busy. You will have this overwhelming feeling of having to stay in control at all times - after all, you know their birth mom's record. You will be on your knees praying for their strong wills to follow God with reckless abandon. You fear the alternative, especially for them.

Your first daughter will give you a great blessing. God will allow you to hold her, nurse her, and truly be a mom instead of just a caretaker. You will give her your heart soon and fall deeply in love. You will be shaken with fear and anger towards God when she turns 15 months old. You will stubbornly research, embark on a world of therapies, and spend every free moment on her. When she is three, right after you embrace your precious 12-month old twins, she will retreat into a secret world and your whole family life will fall apart. She will rage, hurt herself, behave in erratic and unacceptable manners, cry uncontrollably, and not talk. She will struggle with her motor skills; have to learn sign language. Doctors will not have answers - doctors, after doctors, after doctors. Therapists will all have hopeful solutions, and more hopeful solutions to try when the first ones fail. Insurance will drop her. False diagnoses will be diagnosed and then dismissed. People will give up on her, give her a low I.Q. and recommend support groups.

Your friends and support will question your parenting and decision-making skills. You will be talked about behind your back, and your heart will be broken. A school system will choose to abandon your daughter as well, and you will be called to be the teacher of your kids. You will learn to walk with your face pointed like a flint towards God, not looking to the left or the right without the promise of pain inflicted upon you. You will learn to walk alone, start to feel comfort in the walk, and then learn you truly cannot do it alone. The shame of having to accept help will harm your pride, but teach you powerfully of His provision.

You will have a mental breakdown and realize that a whole decade has passed and you've aged at least 15 years. You will learn how to give up on dreams surrounding your world, while desperately clinging to others. You will be forced to surrender - over and over again. You will, however, truly come to know the One who created you and loves you deeply. You will feel the overwhelming love you've always sought. You will be set free from your long kept secret wound, and learn to live in freedom.

Yours is a precious, ever-changing path. You can do it, but not alone. You will try, but He'll force you back to dependence. You will never have a "normal" family. But...you will always have Your Father's hand upon You - His promise will sustain you. Have courage, remember to surrender to Him daily (moment-by-moment if necessary), and love...love with reckless abandon.

Love,

Mandi

Pail

A new pail,
Straight, tight,
Brushed to a cold
Silver shine,

Soon learns
Other ways:
Once filled with
Oats or ashes,

Grayed by rain,
Its handle
Bent, its
Bottom dented,

Grown peaceful
And plain,
It becomes
A real pail.

All the Small Poems and Fourteen More
Valerie Worth


Someday I will stop trying to pretend I am a new pail, and become comfortable with becoming real.

Thrive

Been fighting things that I can't see in
Like voices coming from the inside of me and
Like doing things I find hard to believe in
Am I myself or am I dreaming?

I've been awake for an hour or so
Checking for a pulse but I just don't know
Am I a man when I feel like a ghost?
The stranger in the mirror is wearing my clothes

No, I'm not alright
I know that I'm not right
A steering wheel don't mean you can drive
A warm body don't mean I'm alive

No, I'm not alright
I know that I'm not right
Feels like I travel but I never arrive
I want to thrive not just survive

I come alive when I hear you singing
But lately I haven't been hearing a thing and
I get the feeling that I'm in between
A machine and a man who only looks like me

I try and hide it and not let it show
But deep down inside me I just don't know
Am I a man when I feel like a hoax?
The stranger in the mirror is wearing my clothes

No, I'm not alright

I'm always close but I'm never enough
I'm always in line but I'm never in love
I get so down but I won't give up
I get slowed down but I won't give up

I want to thrive not just survive
Thrive

Vice Verses, Switchfoot

Been bombarded with "love". It has everything to do with love. Loving when I feel nothing is possible, just sometimes excruciating and not very sincere. (1 Cor. 13)