Dear Sugar: Brokenhearted

Dear Sugar,

Over twelve years ago, Steve and I were on a mission trip, one of many we embarked upon together. One evening my mom called:  my best friend from grade school and middle school had passed away from a genetic heart condition after heart surgery.  

I spent the evening crying and milling around the school grounds where the staff and campers were housed.   I felt angry, shaky, and mostly, brokenhearted.

My friend and I had all but ended our friendship in middle school.  She had found new and cooler friends.  I was never the popular/cool girl.    I didn't wear designer clothing, I wasn't athletic, and I was rule-follower.  School to me was a place that tortured the socially uncomfortable.  

I had many happy memories with her before she drifted away.    Hours spent in her swimming pool. Sneaking her mom's makeup (Mary Kay!) and painting our nails.  Making nachos with Doritos.  Her mom letting us watch Steel Magnolias---ironically about a young woman who dies too young of a disease.  (To this day, it's one of my favorite movies.)   We named all of our future children.  One of my four daughters, and one of hers, would share the same name: Maybelline (yes, like the makeup). We called our mutual crush on her pink telephone, the one she kept all to herself in her room.  Then we'd go to church on Wednesday nights just to flirt (in our fifth grade ways) with the mutual crush.

I wondered why God would let my friend die.  She has already lost several family members to the disease, including her own mother.    Why could she not be the one who got a shot at life?  One of the lucky ones?

I recalled the time I was taking classes at the local community college, and I bumped into her.  She was beautiful as always (she had the most fabulous hair!).   We cordially said hi to one another, and then she bounded off down the hallway with another girl, one I deemed much prettier and no doubt cooler than me.  (Junior high memories die hard.)   I slumped to my next class feeling confused and disheartened.

I felt remorseful for all the ways I didn't try to reconnect to her.   The fact that I didn't attend her mother's funeral, located at a small Christian church just three miles from my house, because I felt it would just add salt to the wound.   The ways I wasn't brave.

That evening, or perhaps it was very early the next morning, I sat in the balcony of the school auditorium, my Bible in my lap.  And for the first time, I read this verse:

Psalm 34:18:  "The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

There have been many times in my life when this verse has helped me through another season of hardship.  When feelings of unworthiness, anxiousness, uncertainty, fear, confusion, and anger have made a home in my heart.  

As I type this post, I know some of you are in this place.  I know there are HARD and BIG and CONFUSING things going on in your life, and you are trying, oh you are trying, to deal with them.   I see so many questions being posted in adoption Facebook groups:  questions about openness in adoption, questions about which agency to choose, questions about how to answer a child's questions about his or her adoption.     These are tie-your-heart-in-knots questions.    These are the things that keep us up at night, that weigh on our minds as we are supposed to be listening to a presentation at work or helping a child with his homework, that attempt to capture our joy and peace.  

Some of these things we deal with and move on.  But some of them torture us, tempting us to make the wrong choice or telling us there is NO WAY we will be successful and hopeful.  

There are the days that your past heartaches are uprooted and thrown in your line of vision like New Year's confetti.   Maybe it's the miscarriage or the baby you always wanted but never carried.  Maybe it's the foster children with whom you fell in love with who went home.  Maybe it's the reluctant partner who just isn't sure adoption is the right choice.  Maybe it's the time you didn't say or do the right thing on your adoption journey.  

Maybe, like me, you've struggle with losing someone you loved.   Someone you still love.  Maybe you've had a traumatic experience where someone has taken advantage of you, where you were in an accident or part of something you wish would just disappear.

The Lord is there.  He's there in those murky, shaky memories.   He's there in your moments of desperation and fear.   He's there in your not-so-Jesusy-thoughts.  He's there in your future, too.

There are so many things that happen in life that are simply heartbreaking.   Do you recall your moments?    Don't they render us helpless and rage-filled and numb and apathetic and doubtful and jealous---all at the same time?

Sugar, I don't have this whole heartbreaking thing figured out.   I don't even like to THINK about those past heartbreaking moments.  In fact, this post has been written and deleted many times over the past few years.  I wasn't ready then to share with you about my friend.  I'm not sure I'm really fully ready now.

A few months ago, I found a few books my mom had given me from my childhood.   My girls grabbed one of them, a large picture book from Disney's Snow White, and on the inside cover, there was, in fourth-grader handwriting, a "to" and a "from."  The "to" was to me, the "from" was from her. I felt my chest tighten, and memories flooded back.  

I need you have Psalm 34:18, because I know, I KNOW, that someone today needs to read it.   I need it today.

I'll leave you with this:  

When I was a little girl, my mom once planted some flowers in our front yard.   They were very hard to grow, she told me.  Hard to keep alive and healthy.   But one day they bloomed, and they were spectacular:  a vibrant fuchsia color, contrasting against the surrounding greenery of the moss and grass and the gray-brown bark of the big trees.   These flowers were Bleeding Hearts.

Today, more than ever, I appreciate the effort my mom put in to growing those flowers.   They are powerful reminder of the fact that we are never fully healed from our brokenheartedness.   But that, Sugars, that brokenness in our heart, is exactly what makes us human, what makes us clumsily hopeful, and what makes is possible for there to be more room for beauty to grow.  

Dear Sugar: Mamaste

Hi, Sugar!  I haven't blogged in awhile.  Not because I don't love to write, but because the kiddos were home with me all summer, and we were traveling, playing, and sweating. (Thank you, Midwest weather.)   But I'm back, and I've got somethin' to say.

The other day, my girls were talking in their sister-language, a conversation full of giggles and made-up words.   Then one of them said to me, "Mamaste."

I said, "Do you mean namaste?"

Occasionally (and I mean occasionally), the girls like to do yoga, including using these really cool kiddie yoga cards and lead the "class" (aka, myself and the sibs).   And last week, my middle daughter and I did a little something called Yoga Inferno by Jillian Michaels (yes, every word of that makes me nervous!) for like twenty minutes before we gave up and ate a snack.

The girls moved on, not answering my question.  And then it hit me:  mamaste.

Namaste, as I learned a long time ago in group yoga class means this:  May the light inside of me guide the light inside of you.

For someone not all that invested in yoga (we clearly are not), it's a little weird.  Vaguely spiritual and "out there."  Like we should burn something herbal and start chanting.

But it is a lovely way, if you think about it, to wrap up a workout session.  Something to expect to be said.  Something that means that for just a moment, everyone doing that workout is speaking the same language.   (That's pretty darn rare today, right?)     Plus, the whole idea of being interconnected, of guiding one another, is beautiful.

So if that's namaste, what's mamaste?

Mamaste:  my light is guiding my children's light.

Gulp.

What do I want for my children?  What do I want them to know about life?   What examples am I setting for them as I use my light to guide theirs?

As a writer, I write.  You should see the number of post-its, lists on scraps of paper, and notebooks I have--all full of scribbles, arrows, bullet points.   I have goals.   But it's been a long time since I've thought about what I want my kids to know and to carry on.  Mostly because, like every other mom out there, I'm consumed with the day-to-day.  I'm usually not contemplating tomorrow, because today, as the Bible says, has its own things to deal with.    Today there are sibling arguments, boo boos, cuddles, school assignments, drop offs and pick ups, dinner.  Today is ENOUGH, right Sugar?

But if I stop and think about it...

What an incredible responsibility it is to mamaste.   A privilege.  An honor.  

What is my light?  And what is it doing (or not doing) to guide my children, so that as they grow up, they are guiding others around them.

I saw a meme on Facebook a few weeks ago that said that moms are all a hot mess.  All of us.  But I tend to disagree.

Though life is messy, it doesn't mean WE are a mess.  Just because your house doesn't look Pinterest worthy, just because your hairstyle isn't Instagram worthy, it doesn't mean YOU aren't worthy.   Being messy is just being human.

As I've contemplated what it means to mamaste, I've been thinking about what's important to me. What I want my kids to be:   authentic, honest, kind, empathetic, assertive, intuitive, proud (not prideful, though), and respectful.  Am I always these things?  No, of course not.   But do I need to strive to be?  Of course!  Because in order to best MAMASTE (it's a verb now!), I need to be the person in whom my kids can proudly say, "That's my mom!" And when my children make a choice and act in particular way, right now, that is often a reflection of me.

However, I also want that guiding light to give them permission to be their own light:  certainly gently shaped by me, but not exactly like mine.    This is where the authenticity comes in.    I want to continue to empower my children to be who they are:  proudly.   Who they were created to be without apology, shame, or shield.

There are a thousand ways to mother, and thousand ways to mamaste.   And as much as I am type A lady (planner/organizer/analyzer), I'm continually surrendering to being in the NOW, in the today, in order to let God guide me, moment to moment and hour to hour, as I parent my children, as I let my light guide theirs.

So no matter where you are in your motherhood journey, I hope today that you give yourself permission to mamaste:  authentically and passionately.  There is no greater privilege.


---

For more faith-based encouragement on your adoption and parenting journey, check out the book I co-authored with Madeleine Melcher:





***This post contains Amazon links from my personal e-store.

Dear Sugar: Taking a Sweet Break

Hi, Sugar:

I'm taking a blogging break to focus on book #6 (you are going to LOVE it).  I'm still posting on social media (buttons to the right), writing a few articles, responding to e-mails, and doing media appearances.  

I wish you a SWEET summer!   Join me on my Facebook page for the latest and greatest on all-things-adoption!

Dear Sugar: To Our Babies---Don't Defer Dreams

Dear Sugar,

I first remember reading this Langston Hughes poem in high school, and it has stayed with me ever since.

There are many, many limits that others attempt to put on our children.   This is done out of ignorance and fear.   It stems from hundreds or years of oppression and privilege and evil.  

Yet, I strongly believe that parents have a lot of power.  We can raise confident, resilient, empowered children, children who don't defer dreams.  Children who live their life's purpose, accomplish their goals, discover their dreams.

I think there are practical ways we can do this:

1:  Model the behavior we want emulated.  Are you one of those people who has always wanted to do X, yet you've never done it?   What is your dream?  Start a business?  Learn to swim?  Take a weekend all to yourself?  Whatever it is, no matter how big, or small, or "silly" it seems, how can you turn your dream into a reality so that your children learn that dreams are for DOING?

2:  Talk to your kids about their dreams, and then find role models in that general field.  Do research, read books, talk about the dreams and who has accomplished similar dreams and how.  

3:  Discuss what it takes to accomplish a dream:  determination, commitment, and confidence.  There are many reasons people don't just GO FOR IT---most often due to fear, lack of commitment, and lack of confidence.   Sometimes the most exciting things in life are the most scary, but you'll be there to support and encourage your child.  Work on the skills needed (determination and commitment) in other (smaller) areas in life, so when it comes to dreams, there's a skill set already in place!

4:  Talk about consequences, positive and negative.  What are the consequences of not going for that dream?  What about consequences to go for the dream?   Note that consequences aren't always negative.   The Hughes poem is a great way to start this discussion.

5:  Surround your family with do-ers!   Whatever a person's dreams are, find those people who are relentlessly pursuing their dreams and hang out with them.   It will inspire you and your kiddo!  

I cannot tell you how many times I've been approached by someone who says they've "always wanted to write a book" (and have told me this multiple times over a span of several years) and simply do not do it.   These individuals seem remorseful.  Always yearning.  And always a bit disappointed.  

Don't let your dreams EXPLODE or FESTER or STINK.

If something is stirring in your heart (and in your child's heart), why isn't today the day you say YES and take that first step to DOING?

Dear Sugar: Coffee Table Books

Dear Sugar:

Today I want to share with you my favorite "coffee table books" to have around your home to help racially support your kiddos.   Certainly, books of this size and quality can be pricey, so I suggest searching for used copies, putting them on your b-day or C-mas wish lists, and buying them yourself over time.  Also, great places to look include used book stores, library book sales, the used books section on Amazon, and the bargain book sections at your local book stores.

Here are some of our current favorite coffee table books.  Click on the photo to link to a page in which you can purchase the book:

Happy reading, happy exploring, and happy learning!  

Dear Sugar: A Time to Breathe

Dear Sugar,

It was a typical morning in our home.  A divine mixture of chaos and laughter and bickering.   

When I finally managed to load the kids and all their stuff (don't kids have a lot, and I mean a lot, of STUFF?) into the van, I was tired.  Sweaty.  Craving coffee, a workout, a splash of cold water to the face:  anything to give me energy.  I eased the van onto the road and headed to my older daughter's school.

The noise from the kiddos sitting behind me escalated.  They wanted to watch a movie (a movie, during a two mile ride?).  Then one child was mad because she didn't like the song that was playing the radio, propelling her to demand loudly:  CHANGE IT!  CHANGE IT, PLEASE!   I DO NOT LIKE THIS SONG!

I'm not sure if I responded, let out a sigh, or simply tried to pretend I was jetting to a magical vacation destination, but something caught my eye.

As children poured into the school doors, I spotted a woman and a little boy on the sidewalk.  The woman had her arms around the child, and he was as close to her as possible, their full bodies touching.   They had their eyes closed, the little boy's head buried in his mom's chest, his arms around her waist, hands clasped together.  

In the midst of a busy morning, they took a few seconds to breathe.  To inhale the scent of one another, feel the pressure of each others limbs.  

Reassurance.

Security.

Love.  

A small moment like this can simply re-set a day, or start the day on the right foot.  A moment like this can bring incredible peace and joy.   

It doesn't take long to give your child a touch that says:

-You matter.

-You are special to me.

-I believe in you.

-You are going to have a great day, starting with our embrace.

-I think you are the best kid on this planet.

-I'm here for you, even when I'm not right in front of you.

-I'm so lucky to be your mom.

-I can't wait to hear about your day.

-Thanks for doing life with me.

It is SO easy to forget what matters, to lie to ourselves, to put off the sacred moments (taking for granted they'll always be there).   

This week, this post- Mother's-Day week, give yourself a gift.   

Breathe.  

Stop.

Embrace.  

Dear Sugar: Happy Mother's Day

Dear Sugar,

This post originally appeared on Huff Post Parents last spring:

Each Mother’s Day before church, I pose for a picture with my three children. Their little, sticky hands are cupped around a shoulder and my neck. Later that day, they present me with handmade cards, a dessert and the promise of an afternoon nap. I shower them with kisses and hug them tightly.

My children don’t have my eyes or my husband’s thick hair. Each of our children is a beautiful mix of nature and nurture, a culmination of their birth families and us, their forever family. We don’t share genes with our children, but we share a life.

Celebrating motherhood is something I longed for when I was told I had a chronic disease, one that would make pregnancy potentially dangerous for both myself and a baby. Immediately upon learning my diagnosis, I knew my husband and I would adopt.

We waited 14 long months for our first child. When she arrived, I was beyond ecstatic. We have pictures of every single simple moment. She was our world.

Adopting a child is a monumental event for any person or couple, and for us it was no different. I remember how hard my heart was pounding as we prepared to enter the courthouse to swear before a judge that we would love and protect this child for the rest of her life. It wasn’t just a legal commitment, but a heart commitment.

That day was the both the happiest and saddest day of my life. My daughter’s birth mother entered the court room first, the heavy doors closing firmly behind her. I knew what she was doing: terminating her parental rights and allowing those rights to be transferred to us, the couple she had thoughtfully selected for her baby girl. It was a time of severing. As she exited the courtroom, we shared a short, intimate conversation. Promises exchanged.

One evening while I was rocking my daughter in her nursery, watching her eyelids grow heavy, it dawned on me that I had been parenting her for the exact number of months she had been with her first mother. My eyes welled up with tears, and I realized how completely devastated I would be if I had parented my baby for 40 weeks and then handed her to someone else... forever. It was overwhelming and unimaginable, too painful to fully consider. I wept for my daughter’s first mother.

When our second daughter arrived two years later, we faced similar experiences: joy, empathy, and the weight of eternity. We see so much of our second child in her birth parents, not just in physical appearance, like her height and dark brown skin, but in her preferences, talents and personality. She is part-theirs and part-ours. Blended.

Two years later, we adopted a little boy. Unlike with our girls, we were able to bring our son home from the hospital. We quietly entered the NICU and watched the nurses cut off his identification bracelets and gathered up papers, things that identified him as the little boy he was before he became ours.

As the nurses buzzed around us, getting my son ready for his departure, he began to cry inconsolably. He had been fed and his diaper changed. Was he crying because of the bright lights? Was he crying for the mother he knew he was leaving behind? Was he already missing her? My scent, my heartbeat, my voice, all unfamiliar to this little boy. He hadn’t yet started his life with us. He was in transition.

The magnitude of these moments, the realizations, changed me. They still change me.

My children’s first mothers are on my heart every Mother’s Day, and really, every day of the year. They are my children’s beginnings. Their blood runs through my children’s veins. My children are forever a part of their first families.

I’ve heard, many times, what the general public thinks about women who chose to place babies for adoption. It has been concluded that these women “move on” or “move past” the placement of the child. That they “get on with their lives.” As if they are a distant memory or a fad that went out of style. Dismissed. Forgotten.

But I know the truth. We live the truth. I know that placing a child for adoption is a forever-loss. I know that these women never forget or “get over” the children they conceived, carried, bore and love. I know a part of the women’s hearts will be broken, indefinitely.

Each Mother’s Day, when I pose with my children for our annual photo, I am reminded of how blessed I am to be the one they call “Mom,” and how my claim to motherhood came at a tremendous cost. I am honored to have the privilege of raising my three babies. I have vowed to never forget the women who gave my children life, because I know their first mothers won’t ever forget either.