viva la woodchip.

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I did it. I went camping. This INDOOR girl spent four days – FOUR days – in the OUTDOOR world. For the first time. With two children. Without their daddy. And we survived. Amen.

So…a few reflections:

DO camp with another mom who is an expert at camping because she owns basic camping necessities like a grill and a griddle and a real tablecloth with clips that hold it down to the table and special toilet paper and a wine bottle opener and an overall state of calm and confidence.

DO camp with another mom who has children near the same mental and emotional and physical ability that your own children have. Because if you do, you will both be managing similar meltdowns and quarrels and conflicts and whining for that $1 toy gem at the camp store. And, you’ll both observe how good it is, in this culture, to remove your children from rectangles and watch the sun kiss their skin and smile at all the humorous things they do and say. And, most importantly, all of the children will go to bed all at the same time.

DO search until you find a camper that meets your basic physical and mental needs – like a queen size bed and bunk beds and bathroom and kitchen sink and microwave (just to name a few). Your internal well-being relies on this. Trust me. (Yes, someone somewhere makes these types of lovely campers!)

DO ask for a camp site that is next to the playground, across from the bathrooms/showers, a skip and a hop away from the pool, and that has an eye-sight view of the massive trampoline pillow where the children will expend much of their 12+ hour energy. (I’m assuming that ALL campgrounds would have these parent necessities.)

DO choose the PERFECT weather week – like mid 70s/low 80s. Because this could make or break your camping experience.

DO choose the week when most of the bugs and mosquitos that surely swarm around every camp site fly away to visit another campground or your friends’ homes. This, too, could make or break your camping experience.

DO pack tons of liquids and snack foods because you and your children’s bodies will constantly feel the need to ingest more than it normally requires. And, most importantly, bring Coke and M&Ms. And, bring ingredients for summer recipes like fresh BBQ Chicken Salad and Limonada de Coco, because it will help you feel special. It will remind you that you really are on a “vacation.” But, do make these when all the children are running around the campground making new friends and spinning around on the merry-go-round, so that you can eat in peace, so that your taste buds can savor every delicious bite, so that you are able to feel each little lime-y coconut-y slushy piece of ice slide down your throat.

DO bring lots of firewood, because making a fire each night is a MUST in the world of camping (along with s’mores). And then, after the children are nestled in and then out like a light because they’ve jumped and ran and biked and swam hard all day, pull up your new, red Costco camping chair beside your friend’s chair, stare into the fire, and start talking – about things that matter, about things that don’t. Talk and laugh and be silly and serious until midnight. Or 1 o’clock. Or 2 o’clock. Because in those 3-5 hours, you can cover A TON – like friends and family and in-laws and parenting and your story and decorating and finances and how life is so very wonderful and so very hard and how important it is to be gracious truth-tellers and what it’s like to feel like you’re “too much” and bucket lists and what you’re learning and how you’re failing and how you hope your children will grow to be lovers and doers of good and how to offer yourself as a wife whose husband knows she loves him and is grateful for him and how the people camping next to you talk really, really loud. Basically, you can solve most of the world’s problems in those night hours. So…

DO have your first camping experience with a friend who is fun and neat and organized and flexible and experienced and silly and honest and open…to all that life has to offer. And, who will invite you into an experience that will give you perspective of the OUTSIDE world and perspective on all the things you unknowingly take for granted about your INSIDE world. And, who will post funny pictures on Instagram and tag you as you sit 1 foot away from her. And then laugh about it. And, who will partner with you in an experience that reminds you that you’re capable – of doing new things and hard things and unlikely things…for yourself, for your children, WITH your children. And, who will play her radio ALL day on a station that has ALL the songs you know, so that at any moment you can raise your thumb to your mouth and break out singing and dancing and partying, like it’s 1999.

And then, pack up, go home, wash everything really good and know…that at the end of the day, it’s OK to say, you’re a hotel girl. Hands down.

#VivaLaWoodchip

 

summer slush.

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Sitting on a deck in the summer? The best. Sitting on a deck WITH someone? Even better. Sitting on a deck WITH someone, WITH a good summer drink? Heaven.

I’m not a huge “drinker” (I would choose a coke over most anything), but when I decide to sip a little, it’s gotta be good. Because I’m picky. Someone introduced me to this delicious, subtle alcohol tasting slush years ago, and it’s still my all-time favorite summer slush. And it’s SO easy, so doable, so worth sharing.

So gather your friends and introduce them to this. And then laugh and tell stories and enjoy one another!

Apricot Brandy Slush

7 cups water + 2 cups sugar – bring to boil and let cool, making sure all sugar is dissolved.

2 cups water – bring to boil and add 4 orange pekoe tea bags and let cool. Squeeze out tea bags and throw away.

1 can frozen lemonade + 1 can frozen orange juice + 1 pint of apricot brandy.

While the two pans are boiling, mix the last three ingredients together in freezable container (I use a 9/13 covered pan). Add cooled sugar water and tea. Stir. Freeze overnight (I give it a good stir after a few hours, but you don’t have to). Spoon into cup, add some diet 7-up, stir until slushy.

VOILÁ!

 

 

kindergarten? check.

K Celebration 2014

Ahhh! It’s my first “end of school” week. All the marvelous 7.5 hours a day with her gone and just me and the little guy or me by myself, are winding down. Fast. Shoot!

I’ve absolutely and totally LOVED this school season – all that’s been a part of her world, all that’s not been a part of my world in those 7.5 hours. And I say that in a very grateful way, in a way that says I can be a mommy who absolutely adores my little girl, while at the very same time also be a mommy who absolutely can feel worn out by all the needs of my little girl.

Both/And.

I think about ALL that each adult person has offered her this year – academically, socially, emotionally, physically. And I’m grateful.

And I think about ALL that each little person has offered her this year – friendship and fun and social skills. And I’m grateful.

And I think about ALL that each caretaker has offered this year and I want to give a shout out to YOU – marvelous you. Thank you for what you’ve offered your kids this year: the someone’s-gonna-lose outfit picking process, packing lunches, getting them to school with or without teeth brushed or hair combed, managing crabby mornings, getting their buns in the car or on the bus, saying NO to yourself because you needed to say YES to their sports and music and taxi ride schedules, the hours of helping with homework that was SO like 20+ years ago for you (that you now realize you needed very little of), and all the other stuff that happens in between this stuff.

Whether you’re a “traditional” parent, single parent, grandma/grandpa caretaker, full-time working parent(s) – you’ve done your best. They made it. WE made it.

WE ALL ROCK!

Let’s step into this last week, these last days, with a sense of pride and gratitude because WE DID OUR BEST with what we had to work with. And that’s what matters.

So as they sing their end-of-the-year-program song or walk across that stage, stand up and cheer and clap and smile…for them, for you.

HAPPY END OF SCHOOL 2014!

 

life at six. a letter from her mama.

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Dear Skyla,

Girrrrl…happy birthday! My heart is smiling as I watch you skip into six with all the passion inside you. This day…you’ve been ready for it forever! It’s amazing how you, my sweet girl, look forward to turning another page, another chapter of your life. You can’t get there fast enough. And me, your mama whose nearing forty, wants to keep the page secure and in place – for you, for me – because right now, the innocence and wonder and softness of this world feels just right for you, so natural.

I wanna stay. You wanna go.

There’s something in you pulling you forwards. There’s so much in me that pulls me backwards.

You and me – we have this little dance we do. The pieces of who you are draws me in, shapes the way I embrace mothering, and keeps taking me to places I’ve never traveled before. Our relationship reminds me that I’m brave in really ordinary ways, just as much as it reminds me of all the ways I can get stuck, all the places that still need healing. And then the parts of me that spill out onto you…they’re shaping you, too. I see it show up in how you talk and how you move, in what you care about and don’t care about, and in your little, big personality.

We dance, we disconnect, we come back together, over and over again.

And about this little, big personality…it intrigues me, it ignites me, it infuses into me. I see you. I notice you. I’m learning what it means to know you – what frightens you, what delights you, what hurts you, what your heart needs to soar, how your body and brain crave to feel protected.

You have this charm that makes those closest to you want to stay right beside you.

You have this intensity that goes into almost everything you do, which keeps your independence and strength fiercely untouchable. (We believe this will become an asset someday.)

You have a curiosity and wonder about the world that makes the simple, everyday things in life new and alive, waiting for you to discover and understand.

You have this certainty – that life and people are for you to embrace, wholeheartedly, with conceit.

You have a desire within you to feel safe – with your surroundings, in relationships. You always have. It shows up in unpredictable and surprising ways, knocking me off of my feet, just as much as I presume it knocks you off yours too.

You have this sincere honesty that never makes us question what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling. It’s up front and forthright, learning to wrap itself with grace and kindness and respect.

And then there’s this vulnerable and tender part of you. Sometimes I forget it’s there, but I see it. Oh, girl! I want you to know how much I see this part too. When it shows up, it melts away all the hard that comes with parenting in a matter of seconds. You let me in to the most true and sweet places of your soul, and it feels so good to be right there, with you. And even if it’s just for a few fleeting minutes, I hope something in you knows that during all the moments that this part of you is tucked away, it’s so worth it to wait for those few moments where it feels like we’re together, when all is right in the world.

And ohhhh, those milestones you reached this past year: switching from four wheels to two, losing your first three teeth, learning how to read, memorizing Christmas program songs, navigating around on the computer and iPad and TV, practicing “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you” and “Let’s start over,” and the way you’re just about to finish all-day Kindergarten with flying colors. Each progression is part of growing up and being human, yet each one in it’s own way comes with great bravery and perseverance and a new kind of freedom, both internally and externally. We celebrate these accomplishments and feel gratitude for what has needed to develop and mature in order to execute each experience.

Oh, Honey Bee, there’s so much I want to show and tell you about the world – to protect you, to prepare you, to help you learn what it means to offer your truest, most best self. Yet what I’m learning, what I’m being humbled by, is that you have to experience the shortcuts and mountains, the edges and crevices, the tension and restoration, yourself. I keep being reminded that this parenting journey isn’t about carving out a perfect path for you. I think Jesus had something up his sleeve when he gave me to you and you to me. However his sovereignty impacts us, I know that what we’ve shared in these six years, he’s using to make my heart soften so that I can awaken to my opportunity, not duty, to teach you less about “my” world and more about “his” world, and how he invites you to jump into it with all of who you are. He’s so good like that. And however it happens, as I parent you differently from my own experience, there’s this profound sense that God is mysteriously reparenting me in the fragile places where I need a bit more nurture and grace and love. Wow.

And I love…the way your affinity towards your brother keeps growing, how you make him laugh so hard, how you teach and tell him what to do and what not to do, how you help him and care for him and play with him. I’m grateful for how everything that you are adds to all that he is, and more. And, I love that all of who he is, adds to all of who you are. I love my Korean/Norwegian/Dutch sibs. So much.

And that daddy of yours…you draw him in. He’s so proud that you’re his daughter. He tells me late at night when you’re all tucked in and sleeping. I love hearing him talk about you and what enters his life because of your life – the challenging and confusing and hilarious and entertaining and special things. I’m so glad he talks to me about all of these things, because that’s what makes me know he sees all of you. The eyes of his heart are wide open, and I watch him offer something I wish I could do more of…so much grace, so much acceptance, so much presence. Girl, you’ve got your daddy’s heart.

So, year five leaves you stepping a little more away from our influence and protection. We’ve watched how the “outside” world grabs at you in subtly powerful ways as more experiences have found their way into “your” world, defining what’s cool and what’s not, new words and “bad” words and hurtful words, clothing style and lifestyles, peer pressure and paradigms. They just come in, unannounced and uninvited – through technology and public places and people. We pray for God’s divine discernment in how to respond rather than resist. We pray that your heart will be open to all the good that we have to offer, alongside of all the good the world has to offer. May you know, deep in your soul, what you have to offer – in friendships, in our family, in our community, for the kingdom. And, as the world flies by you or sticks to you or confuses you or pleases you, may you lay your head down on your pillow each night knowing how good your heart is, how loved it is – by him, through us.

So, together we skip right into six, with you. Taking all that has been with us, and allowing it to to complement and be used for all that is needed for this year, a new year. There are parts of me that wish we could stay right here, in this season, but onward we go. And maybe on the way, we’ll get a glimpse of Elsa’s Ice Palace, or maybe first grade, or maybe new friends, or maybe even more love.

So, let’s go, girl!

Love you…so, so much.

Love, Your Mama

***My song, this year, for you: Never Grow Up (Taylor Swift)

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friday.

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Here’s my contribution for Restoration Living’s Lent and Easter Prayerbook. May this day, this weekend, take you to new places. Deep places. Holy places. May we all be aware of and awake to how life circles around and in between both brokenness and beauty, pain and joy, death and life, as we learn how to live and breathe and love as resurrection people.

The ache, deep inside, that comes flooding into your heart, rippling over its surface, down and in between each layer – it hurts. It consumes. It permeates…everything.

Suffering – the strike of disappointment and its unwarranted process of making you aware that there’s nothing you can humanly do or offer to make your pain go away; the stark reality that we live in a broken world.

We fight it.

We numb it.

We hate it.

But it’s there. The rupture between goodness and badness occurs, and we’re left with pain and heartache and questions – with darkness.

The light hasn’t arrived yet. The beauty hasn’t risen yet. The new day hasn’t come yet.

And so we sit, in the darkness, holding out our arms, crying out for something more, something better, a sliver of hope. When will it come? When will HE come? The God who promises to turn ashes into beauty? Where is he?

Could it be, that he, is IN the suffering? Could it be, that he, would actually meet us there, in the despair? Could it be, that he knows all too well what it’s like to cry out with all that he had left? Because on that day – that Friday – in all of Jesus’ humanity, he stepped into the darkest of darkest places, and entered into the most wretched suffering. For us. With us.

He sees…you.

He aches…for you.

He grieves…with you.

That Friday marked history forever. His acceptance to suffer in that way, on that day, sent a message to the world about his heart for us, for you, in epic proportions. A message that says, “I am with you…IN the suffering. Let’s go there, together. I want to show you my heart, my love for you, there, in it. And then just wait…just wait to see what I have for you. It’s coming – new life, new hope, a new day. The story isn’t over yet. Death doesn’t win. But first…let’s go there, to the broken places, to the dark places, together. I’ll be right there, beside you, because you’re mine. You are my beloved.”

Perhaps the more we enter into our suffering, the more we’ll long to taste resurrection, new life, hope. Maybe the depth to which we feel pain is directly related to the depth to which we feel joy.

Because you see, Jesus had to go through Friday, before he could get to Sunday.

a few little words.

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I love opportunities to write for good causes and places and spaces, and I was so grateful when Jedd Medefind (President, Christian Alliance for Orphans) asked me to write a short piece for Becoming Home (Barna Group – FRAMES Series). I very much appreciated that he was willing to include an adopted person’s voice and perspective in this book. That speaks volumes!

I was asked to capture my “Listen” speech from Summit 9 in a few paragraphs. Well, you know me, I’m a woman of many words and that felt impossible! But, you don’t really tell someone that. Right? But, you can and do nicely ask for more than 150 words. Right?

Well, I asked, I submitted, the editors took off and did their hard work, and the book was published.

And, as any writer would, when the complimentary book arrived at my home, I was elated…to see my name, on that book. And then I opened it. And then I read it (my piece first, of course). And it was different. And, as any writer would, I checked my original submission to compare what was sent to what was printed. Yes, indeed, it was different. Minutely different, but different nonetheless. And, as any writer would, I felt mis-represented. I didn’t like the differences. It didn’t feel “right.”

And what didn’t feel “right” wasn’t that the words and phrases were changed and rearranged, (I understand there’s an editing process and I really do believe that people will “get” the message), but the WAY in which my words and phrases were changed and rearranged…THAT’S what didn’t feel right. Because to me, it’s been very, very important in how I use my voice, in how I use my words, in the adoption and foster care world. And, as any writer would, I care very deeply about each and every word. Because what words you say and how you say them can change a tone, a meaning, a nuance, a message. Right? And in writing, that matters. Well, at least to the author!

NOTE 1: It’s OK if right now you’re thinking, “Carissa – get over yourself and your words” because I often say the same thing to myself. HA!

NOTE 2: There’s no blame on anyone for the changes. It’s just what happens in the editing process. And, the changes don’t take away from the message that the adopted person’s voice, his/her story, is one to be listened to and responded to.

So, those changes? Seriously. No big deal. But, here are my words, my original words. We’re working on changing them for the second print, but for now, you get to have them. Because I want you to have them. From me.

I encourage you to read Becoming Home. I so enjoyed knowing more of Jedd Medefind’s story and heart and insight as he uses his position and platform and passion to invite the “church” to become conduits of safety and love and healing and hope. And, because it’s important to keep the conversation going about what it means “to care for, to preserve, to keep, to take care of…one another.”

May we continue, to listen, to one another.


Listening…it takes practice.

What does it mean to listen to the heart of an adoptee? How do you hear what’s really being said behind the voice, the eyes, the behavior? How do you begin hearing those who hold a wound from before they can remember – a wound that birthed a deep longing to feel significant, wanted, loved?

Us adoptees, we’re like you…worthy, loveable, capable. Many times, though, we’re defined as voiceless, helpless, forgotten. But, we’re not. We are people who have a story to tell, a voice to offer. We’re learning to trust, and are being healed. We have hope. We don’t need you to rescue us, we need you to see us…the beautiful parts and the broken parts. We need you to remind us of who we are, who we were created to be.

We need you to listen to our hearts…our loss, our heartache, our journey, our restoration.

And then respond.

No, you don’t have to. You get to.

You get to model vulnerability, cultivate courage, build trust, offer grace. You get to show a real-life, real-time picture of Jesus, of his heart…for the orphan, for the world. And then, as that relationship becomes a two-way street, something sacred and beautiful and healing can happen. A space is created where transformation can take place…for all.

You, me, us, them…we get to be in this together. This is the call to the church: to love and be loved; to step into what God is already doing among us, through us. We, the church, get to offer healing and truth and hope – to one another – with a posture of humility and openness and presence as we share our stories, our hearts.

But first, we need you to lean in, be still, be present, and listen. It’s then when something miraculous and mysterious will happen. It’s then when we will begin to embody what it means to connect and trust and feel safe…with one another, with God.

May we all become good listeners…to all of the story.

Because if we do, it just might change…all of us.

**Original submission for Becoming Home: Adoption, Foster Care & Mentoring – Living Out God’s Heart for Orphans (Barna Group – FRAMES, 2013). Written by Jedd Medefind & David Kinnaman; RE/FRAMES by Francis Chan, Jim Daly, Ruslan Maliuta, David Platt & Carissa Woodwyk.

giving face.

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I have these moments when I’m completely struck by what’s happening around me and what’s happening within me, simultaneously, and how holy it is.

A few weeks ago, I listened to two stories. Two stories filled with brokenness and beauty.

The first one was about what it was like to live in the shoes of an adoptive mom. She described what it was like to wrestle with herself, with her body, with her dreams, as she walked through her infertility. She shared of her deep longing and ache to love and nurture a child and how God brought about his gift to her…from the womb of another woman. She spoke up and out about what it was like to stand in that hospital room watching a baby enter the world – her baby – and then being passed from the arms of his first mom to hers. She talked about that moment when she and her son’s – their son’s – birthmom hugged goodbye – with compassion, with gratitude, towards one another…each life changed forever.

OH. MY. HEART

The second story was about what it was like to live in the shoes of a birthmom. She described how her physical ability and finances and circumstances were adequate to raise the little girl growing inside of her, yet how her fiancé’s fear and feelings of inadequacy invited him to leave her…alone. She talked about her choices – abortion or single motherhood – and the cultural and religious stigmas that surrounded each of them. And then, how a third choice, a new choice, emerged…creating an adoption plan. And then that choice – the hardest choice of all – to choose to relinquish her daughter, to place her daughter, into someone else’s home, away from her care, but never from her heart. She described the thoughts and questions and fears and hopes – that she, that her daughter, would face someday because of her decision, because of the desire she had for her daughter to experience life more fully, wholly.

OH. MY. HEART.

And then I shared my story – about what it’s been like to live in the shoes of an adopted person. I talked about the missing pieces and people, the missing messages my heart needed. I shared what it’s been like to wonder and wander alone, longing to feel needed and wanted and fought for. I described what it’s like to hear others talk about adoption as only something beautiful when everything within me has felt so broken – the fear, the grief, the shame. I talked about how my unraveling and wrestling and need for others and “leaning into” my story keeps bringing me to a safe place, with Him, allowing me to find more love, more trust, more voice.

OH. MY. HEART.

We had been invited to share our stories – these stories – in front of one another. We were listening…to one another.

Overwhelming. Sacred. Healing.

We were listening to what the other person has lost, what the other person has gained.

We were listening to how the other person’s heart has ached, how it has aspired.

We were listening to one another’s fears and shame and guilt and fragility, to their sorrow.

We were listening to one another’s beliefs and expectations and dreams, and how they got messed with.

We were listening to one another’s longing for hope and healing and redemption – for ourselves, for the people we love.

We were listening to the story of one another’s hearts. And it changed us.

As we listened to each other, we heard ourselves. As we entered into “her” reality, we felt “our” reality. As our eyes looked at “her,” we saw “us.” The “other” person’s heart? It was our heart. Sure, the context and content were vastly unlike, but the feelings…they were so a-like. The feelings each person expressed, with raw emotion, were so close to what swirled around in our own hearts.

Different shoes, different paths, same humanity.

And in those moments, those 3 hours, we felt joined.

Our stories felt known…by one another. Our stories felt needed…by one another.

Our stories connected – birthmom, adoptive mom, adopted person – with one another’s. There wasn’t one story that didn’t include or depend on the other story.

We each came from a very unique and different place, a different journey. Our stories had pain and disappointment and ache – for something we didn’t have, didn’t want. And, our stories contained truth and healing and hope – because we’ve seen a bigger story being put together, because we’re experiencing how each of our stories can be used for good. Yet in some regards, the very thing that connected us all – adoption – has been the very place that has kept us all disconnected and distant.

We want to change that.

Maybe naming the disconnection and distance could open the door for needed relationship, for being known, to more creative love.

Maybe naming these divided and silo-ed relationships could give us a chance to experience more connection, more healing, more wholeness – in the adoption triad, in our families, in the “adoption world.”

Every story of how a child came to the place of needing to be adopted is different. Some of those stories are tragic and traumatic. Many of those stories are unknown. But I know that when I heard this birthmom’s story and how her choice to create an adoption plan was necessary for her, I know without a shadow of a doubt that everything inside of her made that decision out of love, for her child. She wanted her daughter to have two parents, siblings, a cohesive family. Something that at that time, she wasn’t able to offer her. But her ache, for what she couldn’t give – it was so, so intense. I could feel it, deeply…with her. Her tears as she told that part of the story – they rolled down her face. They were unstoppable. They were heavy. They were sad. And in that moment, there was no judgment, just heartache. Not for her, but with her. She made a choice that changed her life and her daughter’s life forever without knowing where the story was going to go. She let go of herself – the belief that she needed to create an environment for her daughter alone. And so she chose to invite others into her story, into her daughter’s story. And in that moment, as I listened, something inside of me shifted from, “But why didn’t you fight for her? Why didn’t you keep her?” to “Her decision to create an adoption plan took mountains of courage to admit that she couldn’t do this alone, that she didn’t “have” to do this alone.” And in that moment, as I listened, my perspective changed a bit more from “I” versus “her,” to “we.”

And now, as my heart and mind continue to make sense of this experience, within the context of my own story, I feel her heart. I see her face. Her face – birthmom’s face – it’s been hiding. Maybe I’ve kept it hidden. Because you know what? It’s a hard face to picture, to see, to confront. It’s a lot easier and feels a lot better to keep it tucked away, back in Korea, back into the unconscious parts of my brain. But you know what? I need that face. I need that face because it’s part of my face, it’s part of my heart, it’s part of who I am. It’s not honoring to her to crop her out of the “picture.”

And so, my prayer is that God will gently and compassionately show me what I need to know and understand and see in her face – that he will reveal to me the pieces of her that bring more fullness to my story, more healing to my heart. Because in my experience, the profound and holy moments of truth-telling, of love, of healing – with Jesus – is when I’ve been face to face with him, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

So, my friends…are we up for inviting ALL of the stories, ALL of the people, to the table? Are we up for giving one another voice? Ahhh! But before we can give someone voice, we need to give them face. Maybe by giving birthmom a face, you will be able to help your child – her child – give her a face, too.

Let’s invite birthmom’s face (and voice) to the adoption world, to our world. We need her. We need her voice. Not out of pity, but out of love. Because we value her. Because in doing so, we honor her – her heart, her story, her dignity. She completes the “picture.”

NOTE: Clearly, the birthfather’s face and voice need a place to be seen and heard too.

Perhaps for us in the adoption triad, we need the birthparents story in order to bring a fuller picture of the bigger picture of what God is able to reveal of himself, his love, through the process of adoption.

That could be overwhelming.

That could be sacred.

That could be healing.

Because as you’ve heard me say before:

You (we) have this profound opportunity, this profound calling, this profound invitation to provide a place, a space – for healing, for hope, for rebuilding, for renewing, for restoring, for redeeming us (her)…you.

No, you certainly don’t have to, but you get to…you get to offer a sacred, stunning, glorious, beautiful picture…of Jesus, of shalom.

But first, we (she) need(s) you to listen.

Please, please take the time to lean in, be still, be present, and listen to our (her) heart(s).

Because it just might change…all of us.

NOTE: Picture above represents the adoption “triad” – Adoptive Mom (Kim Scholten), Adoptee (Me) & Birthmom (Lindsay Walters). So, so grateful to be able to share an afternoon of storytelling with them. I respect their courage, their faith, their love for their children. Thank you Kim and Lindsay, for being a part of this post, for being an influential part of my story, for offering both your face and voice to the world. Both are SO needed!