Writing Prompt #3: Mothers

Tanner's prompt for today is Mothers.

I've been a mother for over four years now. I was a foster mother first; now I'm an adoptive mother. People tell me all the time that I'm a great mom, an amazing mom, a good role model, an inspiration, that they could never do what I do.

Here's the truth: I'm an okay mom. I'm not great. I'm moody, tired, and quiet most of the time. I am an expert in "do as I say, not as I do." I'm not saying I'm a bad mom, by any means. Working with foster kids taught me what bad parenting is, and that's not me. I'm just saying that I'm far from some saint of a mother.

I like to tell myself that "someday, when I'm not depressed, I'll do better." That's not helpful, though, when my daughter needs me right now. Could I get out of this chair and spend time with her today?

Ask me tomorrow.

Stay tuned for May 12th: Stillness.

The End of the Decade

Hello, friends.

I'm going to do the stereotypical "it's the end of a decade" post here. Because it is! And it's interesting and informative to reflect back on what the last ten years have been.

In 2010, I turned 18 years old. I graduated high school in Iowa and moved to Wisconsin to begin my first year of college.

Since then, holy cow, a lot has happened.

I graduated college in 3 years.
I've had 9 different jobs and lived in 4 states.
I made a lot of new friends and lost touch with some old ones.
I've gained a sister-in-law and seriously cute godchildren.
I became a dog-mom, and then a foster mom, and then an adoptive mom.

The end of 2019 finds me recovering from following my dreams to Oklahoma. My recovery has led me to Milwaukee, with my wallet a little tighter than before, but my heart much fuller.

Looking back at who I was in 2010, I doubt I ever would have guessed what the next ten years would hold. I never thought my first church work job would be campus ministry in Florida. I would have been aghast to think that my first call would end so painfully. I hoped I'd find my husband by now.

So many things are different than I thought they would be, but that doesn't mean they're bad. I'm ending the decade on a good note, in a good place, with good friends. It may be a note I never would have predicted ten years ago, but it's a good note nonetheless.

Along the same lines, I have no guesses as to where I'll be in 2030. I'd like to see myself in a stable job, with a husband and maybe a few more kids (biological, adoptive, foster, whatever). That's as specific as I want to get. God will fill in the blanks. After all, He certainly did in the last ten years. I have faith that whatever He's got planned for the next ten will be equally surprising and ultimately good.

July Adventures

Hello, friends.

It's been a crazy fun month. My blog posts are usually serious, so instead, today I'm going to share with you some of my favorite stories from the month of July. I hope you enjoy. :)

I'll start off with a classic Mad Libs story entitled "Your Undead IQ," as written by my daughter and narrated by myself and Melissa.

Are you an undead expert? Take this powerful quiz to find out! 

1. Where do vampires sleep? a) with the fishes, b) on the beach, c) inside a cat, or d) in a striped coffin

2. What is a zombie's favorite snack? a) moon salad, b) chocolate-covered pillows, c) school bits, or d) brains

3. Where do ghouls go to meet ghoul friends? a) the grocery unicorn, b) the cookie park, c) a confused school, or d) the grave-trip

4. How do mummies become undead? a) they ask Lindsey nicely, b) they travel through time using a glove machine, c) they earn extra floppy grades in school, or d) they get cursed by a soft sorcerer 

If you answered mostly Ds, you're a real undead Kleenex! Your curly expertise will come in handy - in this life and beyond...

Good times, good times. Thanks to Melissa, Lindsey, and noun expert Bryan for your excellent contributions to my daughter's Mad Libs education.

Speaking of Bryan, he passed the "get continually harassed by Mary for two days" test, which is a good sign. Within an hour I was comparing him to my dog and he didn't even flinch. That's significant right there. Take note, Lindsey.

Let's be honest though - there was a very simple and obvious reason that I wanted to visit the cheese state. It was so delightful to show my daughter the campus of my alma mater Concordia Wisconsin. That's where I met Lindsey (when I came to her room to help her roommate with English and basically didn't leave for a year) and Melissa (when she stopped by my room at 8 AM on the dot to collect money for vegetable oil). CUW is where I joined Students for Life, the group that inspired me to become a foster parent in the first place. Without this incredible school, my daughter and I might never have met.

And have I mentioned the bluff?

We walked down the stairs to the beach, dragged ourselves back up the switchbacks, bought a Zoey the comfort dog plush in the bookstore, posed for a picture with Freddy the Falcon, and giggled at the summer hours for the Falcon's Nest.

Other Wisconsin-y highlights include: eating cookies while watching American Ninja Warrior with Melissa in her ANW hat, feeling very old at a trampoline park and a water park, the "men's ballet" at the water ski show, and naming dozens of badgers for Lindsey and Bryan to own.

I'm really quite astonished that I've gotten this far in my July blog post without mentioning my nephew. Have I ever mentioned my nephew on here before? I clearly need to make up for lost time. His name is Kylen and he's the cutest person on planet earth. Soon he'll have some cute competition, but for the moment, no one can make me smile quite like him.

Kylen's accomplishments include:

1. Being totally obsessed with my dad, AKA Opa. Which is, of course, very appropriate as my dad is awesome. Everyone coming to visit Kylen arrived before Opa, and this was extremely concerning. We're all small potatoes in comparison. 
2. Mowing the lawn (and the driveway) (and the sidewalk) with his bubble mower. It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it, and Kylen's up to the task.
3. Making spaghetti with tomato sauce, thanks to the super-cool pasta play set his super-cool aunt and cousin gave him for his third birthday. 
4. Loving tractors a lot. I wasn't next to him at church, but I'm told that all he talked about the whole time was returning home to his new toy tractor from Oma and Opa.
5. Not appreciating Opa's very scary sneezes.
6. Naming his stuffed animals after letters of the alphabet. 
7. Pulling up his pants a lot. 
8. Playing frisbee with Oma.
9. Identifying the dogs (excuse me, puppies) in his neighbor's yards.
10. Have I mentioned he's cute? 

There were other people in Marion as well - Zach and Lindsey, my parents, my grandma - but none of us will deny that we were there for Kylen!

After saying goodbye to Kylen and his crew, we headed up to Minneapolis for my youth ministry conference with Melissa and my daughter's summer fun camp at the Mall of America with Lindsey. It was amazing to attend the conference. I learned so much and immensely enjoyed myself in the process. Meanwhile, my daughter and Lindsey rode roller coasters, met members of the Paw Patrol, climbed tall towers, made their own crayons, built a bear (technically a dog), and played arcade games. Lindsey also drew me this excellent map, which probably meant something at the time. 

My personal favorite activity, however, had to be the lumberjack show hosted by Concordia St. Paul (not THE Concordia, but still a good one). Oh goodness, it was hysterical. The lumberjacks were such hams and cracked us all up with their antics. I really hope we have that option for the National Youth Gathering next year. 

After Minneapolis, we spent a few days in this little place called Urbandale where I used to live. We went to the Botanical Center, where my dad and daughter ran around on a scavenger hunt while my grandma and I gave up and visited the gift shop after half an hour because it was very hot in there. My dad and I soundly defeated my mom and grandma in cards one night, only to lose just as soundly the next night, despite the fact that we were the sober ones. We also decided that we would like a turkey-shaped ice cream cake for Thanksgiving this year, please. 

Speaking of ice cream, I'll leave you with this list of all the places my daughter and I had ice cream on our fourteen-day six-state adventure. Thanks for a great trip that will hopefully be repeated soon, friends and family. :)

1. Dairy Queen
2. Culvers (twice) 
3. Kopps
4. Zach and Lindsey's house
5. Target/our Minneapolis hotel
6. ColdStone (twice) 
7. Baskin Robbins

Solving the Problems of Humanity

Hello, friends.

If I lived in an alternate universe in which I had unlimited time and resources, I would have a very large house in which all foster children, homeless people, survivors of abuse, refugees, and stray animals would be welcome, healthy, happy, and safe.

Unfortunately, I live in the real world, and solving the problems of humanity is not that simple.

I hear about the situation at the border, where a heartless policy rips children away from their parents, and all I want to do is fix it. I want to storm that old Wal-Mart full of innocent girls and boys and reunite them with their families. But I can't. I don't have the power to make all of those poor children's problems go away.

Occasionally, my caseworker asks if I can take another child. I hate saying no, because I know the ratio of foster children to available foster homes (it's not good) and I know the amount of difference a home instead of a shelter can make (it's a lot). But I have to say no. One child is almost too much for me sometimes, and logistically, it's just not possible for me to take in another one. I say no, but mentally, I'm always calculating what it would take to get to the point of saying yes. Because if I can help, I should be. That's the way my parents raised me. You don't stand by and watch as someone else suffers. You help them. That's just what you do.

So as I look at the situation at the border, I know that I can't actually storm that Wal-Mart and help all those kids. But I know that, just like I'm able to make a difference in the life of one foster child, I can make a difference in maybe the life of one of those kids. Or two. Or three.

This article provides a lot of good information. I recommend you check it out. It's easy to look at a big problem like this and say, "That's too big for me. I can't possibly fix this." And you'd be right in saying that. You, alone, as one person, you can't fix this. But we, together, we can fix this.

"The King will say to those on his right,  'Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, saying, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?'

And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these brothers, you did it to me.'" (Matthew 25:34-40)

Two Years and Counting: Life as a Foster Parent

Hello, friends.

Today, I woke up, woke my daughter up, drove her to school, came home, took a shower, got dressed, and went to work. My secretary wasn't in today, so I only took a short break to come home and grab some leftover pizza before heading back to the office. While at work, I divided my time between VBS planning and brainstorming for my confirmation class next year. I left work, hung out at home for a little bit, then picked my daughter up from school. We spent our evening as we often do: I did chores, she did chores, we ate dinner, we both stared at screens a little too much, and then she went to bed. Now I'm here, typing all of this out for you.

My day-to-day routine didn't change a whole lot when I became a foster parent over two years ago. Let's be honest: I spent a lot of time staring at screens before I was a foster parent. I went to work. I came home. I did chores. I ate leftover pizza.

However, my life in general changed dramatically when I became a foster parent. I became "Mom." Every single parent out there knows there's no coming back from that. Once you're a parent, that's it. And it's wonderful. I love being "Mom." I love the funny back-and-forths I have with my daughter. If you keep up with my Facebook feed, you know what I mean. She cracks me up like no one else can. She also makes me cry like no one else can. Recently she's been coming up to me at random times of the day and saying, "I didn't get my hug this morning." Let me tell you, unsolicited hugs from my daughter are the very best kind.

Her life changed dramatically, too. She's made an insane amount of progress in the last two years. She's matured, she's opened up, she's become braver and stronger and kinder, she's gained confidence and a sense of responsibility and a whole host of positive role models. She's becoming her own person, acknowledging the things that have happened to her without letting them define her, and that's incredible. She's been able to do all of these things because she's had stability, consistency, and unconditional love.

Does she still have a long way to go? Without a doubt. But so do I.

There are some people who question whether my decision to become a foster parent two years ago was the right one. I won't deny that I've questioned that before, too. On the days when I get calls from school, for example. Or the nights when she gets out of the shower and I make her get right back in because she didn't wash her hair. I'm pretty sure all parents have those kind of moments. But all good parents recognize that momentary discomfort or annoyance doesn't change the fact that they're parents, and they love their kids dearly and would do anything - anything - for them.

Has being a foster parent affected my job? Absolutely. I've been forced to learn more about teenagers, and parenting teenagers, and the joys and struggles both teenagers and parents face on a daily basis. What terrible experiences for a Director of Christian Education to have! It's almost like this is a good thing. Because it absolutely is. Nothing about this situation is undesirable for me. My daughter has made me a better DCE, a better Christian, a better person.

Is being her mom hard? Yes, it is. I won't sugarcoat it. But my daughter is a child of God just like you and me. She deserves compassion, sacrifice, acceptance, encouragement, love. Just love.

If anyone can take an honest look at my daughter, knowing that she's in the foster system for a reason, and say that she doesn't deserve those things, that she's somehow "less than" because she's not like other teenagers, that I shouldn't be willing to give up everything for her because it's too hard... well, the simple truth here is that they're wrong.

She's my daughter. And that's not the end of the story; it's only the beginning.

Answered Prayer

Hello, friends. I returned today from a very needed weekend away at OK'd in Christ, our high school district youth gathering. It was a blast, and I have so many stories, but there's one in particular I'd like to share that has very little to do with the gathering itself.

While at OK'd, one of the adult leaders came up to me and asked about my foster daughter. She remembered her from when she was a substitute teacher at an elementary school in Edmond. Since my daughter's in high school now, this was obviously several years ago. And keep in mind, this person was a substitute teacher, not even someone that my daughter would see regularly. This teacher could tell, even then, even with that limited amount of exposure to my daughter, that something was off in her life. She told me this weekend that seeing my daughter again, in such a context, and so obviously happy, was an answered prayer.

This isn't the first time someone has told me that. Last summer, at the First Friday event in downtown Enid, my daughter and I ran into another one of her old teachers, who told me much the same thing. I've had caseworkers and foster care workers who knew my daughter previously share similar sentiments with me. It didn't register any of those times, but it did this weekend: I'm the answered prayer. God chose to answer those prayers through me.

That's a strange concept for me, folks. Of course we talk about these things in theory, and always in the plural - God uses us to answer prayers, he chooses to do his work through us, that kind of thing - but it just really hit me while talking to this teacher: God chose me. Out of all the potential foster parents out there, out of all the avenues he could have chosen, he looked at my daughter's situation and said, "She needs Mary."

I'm not saying this to brag. Don't take this as me being conceited, because as I told this teacher over the weekend, "There's nothing particularly special about me that I'm able to do this. I'm still the kind of person who forgets to turn off the faucet and floods the kitchen accidentally. I'm just like everybody else, except I said yes." And of course, God could have worked through so many other people to be my daughter's foster parent. But the fact is that he didn't. He chose me.

Sometimes, I question why God would do such a thing. Why on earth he would choose someone who can't wake up on time or keep the kitchen clean, why he would look at a short, overweight, out-of-place Midwesterner who still plays Pokemon at the age of twenty-six and say, "This girl needs Mary and no one else." The funny thing is that, when God chose someone in particular in the Bible, they often asked that question, too. They looked at themselves, and then back at God, and essentially said, "Me? Really?" Let me quote some of them for you:

"Behold, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a youth." -Jeremiah
"Please, Lord, how can I save Israel? Behold, my clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father's house." -Gideon
"Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of God out of Israel? ...Oh, my Lord, please send someone else." -Moses

No one is good enough to be chosen by God. We all have inadequacies, limitations, pet sins, problems. And when God chooses us, our tendency is to panic, and ask, "Are you sure?" But God knows all of those things and chooses us anyway. Hear how he replied to Jeremiah and Gideon and Moses. It's very simple:

"I will be with you."

He says that to me, and to you, as well. We have all been chosen by God for something very specific. He looked at each one of us and said, "You are meant to do this - and I will be with you through it." Of course we are all meant to serve God and our neighbor, but he has chosen each and every one of us to do that in a particular way. For me, in this time, it's to be a foster parent. For you, it might be something different.

But I encourage you today to think about fostering. I'm not going to lie to you, it's not easy. I like to say that it's an adventure every day. That's a nice way of saying that it's a constant challenge. Fostering is hard. The kids in care have gone through more than I could have even imagined at their age, and it makes them hard to handle. There's a constant tension between "I feel so badly for you that I just want to spoil you" and "I need to discipline you because you are behaving badly." It's hard to find the balance.

But while it's difficult, it's also incredibly worth it. I've witnessed so much growth in the past almost two years. Despite all of my missteps and failures, despite all of the excuses she could have used to do otherwise, my daughter has grown in leaps and bounds. She's improved in school, in social skills, in self-esteem, in hygiene. She's made friends and gone to church camp and, most importantly, became a Drake basketball fan.

I'm just kidding (although that is true) - the most important thing is that her faith in God has evidenced itself everywhere I look. This weekend showed me that.

There's a certain stigma associated with fostering. I think most people automatically dismiss it before they even consider it. So my plea is this: give it some thought. You might be God's chosen person to change someone's life forever.

After all, it appears that I am. And that's the best feeling in the world.

My Weird Life

Hello, friends.

My life is weird.

I'm lying in bed, in the dark, after midnight, wearing yoga pants (that have rarely seen yoga) and a Thrivent Financial shirt (that I got for free from church despite not being a Thrivent member). I'm very tired, because it's been a weird couple of weeks, but I can't sleep, probably because it's been a weird couple of years.

It's been hard for me to make friends in Enid, which is why it's so ridiculously exciting when people come to visit me. My dear friend Lindsey came out for a week recently. It's hard to put our friendship into words, but just imagine some combination of selflessness and gummy bears, and that's Lindsey to me. We have so much fun together that we greatly confuse my foster daughter (and most other people we come into contact with, let's be honest).

So Lindsey was here, which, again, was fantastic and she could come every day for the rest of my life and that would be fine, but whenever someone visits there's a lot of driving involved for me and it's exhausting. It also gets me out of my routine.

Then, after (reluctantly) returning her to the airport, instead of having a normal work day the next day, I had a meeting two hours away in Broken Arrow. Then, two days later, another meeting in Knowles, three hours away. Then I think the exhaustion just took over and made me sick, making me miss another day of work. Then, two days later, I had to miss yet another day of work to take my daughter to an appointment in Oklahoma City. So much driving. So many breaks in routine.

My kitchen is a mess, I'm behind in my volunteer side job (writing for The Fandom website - check it out sometime), I probably have bills to pay in my various piles of mail, I'll have to go in on my day off this week to make up some hours, and yet here I am.

Writing a blog post.

I'm so tired.

My life is weird. And there are so many ways to make it less so - I could have chosen a more "normal" career like my parents and my brother, one that allowed me to choose where I live. That way, I actually could see Lindsey every day. (Although these days I'm not so sure if that would happen, Bryan.) I could have chosen not to become a foster mother. That would give me more free time, allow me to travel more. I could have chosen to say screw it and not attend those meetings. I wouldn't be as far behind on everything, that's for sure. Maybe I wouldn't have gotten sick.

But I love my job, and my daughter, and my DCE friends that I meet with. I love my weird life. If you'd told me ten years ago that my life would look like this, I never would have believed it. This isn't what I expected.

God's plan never is.

And isn't that great?

A Different Kind of Love

Hello, friends.

As my daughter keeps reminding me, we're coming up on our second anniversary. She came to live with me on April 18th, 2016. She's much more of a planner than I am. "What are we going to do to celebrate?" Um, I don't know, that's still several months away, child...

Anyway, it's been about a year and a half since I first met my foster daughter. She's a joy and a terror, like I imagine most daughters are. (Pretty sure my parents would attest to that fact.) She's grown and matured an incredible amount since we met, but she's still, well, herself. And herself is enough to drive me mad at times.

Case in point: today, I asked her to clean her room. I managed to clean almost the entire rest of the house while she managed to clean almost nothing in her room. At about seven o'clock, I gave her two options: she could take the next hour and do some more work in her room, or she could have free time until it was time to shower, with the caveat that she would finish cleaning her room tomorrow AND help me clean the garage, thus having almost no free time at all tomorrow. She chose the latter, for reasons that I still don't really understand. Except I do, because I understand her. She can't see past the immediate future. She's just not ready for that kind of thinking yet.

Recently, a parent at church has been pushing me to discipline my daughter more. He's someone I know pretty well and have a lot of respect for, but it still irritates me, because he doesn't know our situation like I do. I feel like I discipline my daughter too much, that all I do is yell and give orders. She knows that I love her, but sometimes I feel like I don't show it very well. She requires a different kind of discipline and a different kind of love than this other parents' kids do. He means well, but he's irritating just the same.

At Midweek School this past Wednesday, I had three kids behave so badly in class that their teachers sent them to my office, saying they weren't allowed to come back that day. All three kids are related to one another. It's easy to get annoyed with them - this isn't the first time I've had them in my office, and no matter what we do or say to them, they just keep acting up. They're disrespectful. They don't listen. They think it's funny when their teachers send them out.

They drive me nuts, but my experience with my own daughter tells me that there's more to this story, and it's worth my time to learn it. These kids require a different kind of discipline and a different kind of love than the other Midweek kids do - and that's okay. It's my job as the DCE to work with their parents and figure out how to help these kids succeed. Despite everything, they're just kids. I won't give up on them just because they talk back to me. And I won't judge them without knowing them.

Disney Reflections

Hello, friends. Today I was listening to "Reflection" from Mulan in the car. (I would lie and say I only listen to Disney music because of my daughter, but let's face it, none of you would believe me.) Part of the song goes like this:

"Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me? Why is my reflection someone I don't know? Somehow I cannot hide who I am, though I've tried. When will my reflection show who I am inside?"

I've always related to this song because I've rarely felt comfortable in my own skin - at least, not for very long. Oh, I did for a bit in high school and a bit in college, but ever since, I've been searching for what I'm supposed to look like. What I want to see in myself isn't always what other people want or expect to see.

I think I've found it.

Here I am, in my (less messy than usual but still not clean) kitchen, wearing my Concordia cross country sweatshirt and a t-shirt from an Oklahoma state park, about to get dinner started for my foster daughter. If you'd asked me five years ago if this is what I would look like, or want to look like, I would've said no way. I wanted a husband by now, and maybe a baby, and a slightly bigger kitchen, and to be better at cooking and cleaning by now. But per the usual, God's plan trumped mine, and here I am. 

Happy. 

That's not to say I still don't want those other things. I do, and someday I hope I'll have them. But for right now? This is who I am, and I'm comfortable with that. 

Everything Is an Experiment

Hello, friends. Today, instead of going to work, I'm sitting at home eating small amounts of cereal and trying not to throw up. So far, so good.

I did have to leave at some point to drive my daughter to and from the library, where she had been volunteering. I say "had been" because today, the teen librarian told me that she wasn't a good fit for the program. It was an uncomfortable conversation. Basically, she said that my daughter didn't want to help - all she wanted to do was play.

This didn't come as a great shock to me, and if you've spent any time with my daughter, I doubt you're shocked either. But if that conversation was uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to the conversation I then had to have with my daughter. I spent the drive home thinking, "How on earth do I break this to her?"

In the end, I kept it simple. I asked her some questions about what she did at the library versus what she was supposed to do, and she was able to acknowledge that she didn't always listen to the librarian. I then told her about one of my mottos in life: everything is an experiment. If one thing doesn't work, we try something else. And that's okay. Not everything is going to work. Sometimes things will work for awhile and then stop working. When one experiment fails, we move on to the next. That's how life works.

I'm glad she was able to volunteer, even if only for a few weeks. Now we find our next experiment.

Lessons from Lizzie McGuire

Hello, friends.

"No one person can save the whole world." That's a familiar phrase from my blog, but I want to share with you where I first learned it. It's not where you might think.

When I was younger, I was a big Disney Channel girl. One of my favorite shows was Lizzie McGuire. I vividly remember an episode in which Lizzie and her friend ran a successful food drive at their school. Because of their success, Lizzie became obsessed with volunteering and other noble pursuits - she started forcefully collecting items for the homeless shelter and sorting out trash and recycling at home, and she even became a vegetarian. She yelled at her mother for leaving the water running, her friends for making paper airplanes, and her teacher for not printing a pop quiz double-sided.

Lizzie's parents sat her down to talk about her behavior. They pointed out that she was taking on too much and running herself into the ground - she couldn't save the world by herself. If she really wanted to make a difference, they said, what she needed to do was pick one thing and go for it. Her heart was in the right place, but she needed to calm down and allow herself to rest.

Lizzie tried to do too much. She wanted to support the food pantry and homeless shelter. She wanted to recycle more and help animals and save the earth's resources. None of those things were bad, but she was only one person, and she couldn't do all of those things at once.

When I was in college, boy, did I make a Lizzie mistake. I tried to be a key leader in Students for Life, Puppet Ministry, and Small Groups all at once while still participating in other activities and taking a full course load. Everything suffered for lack of time and energy until I realized that I had tried to do too much. All of the things I was doing were good things, but I was only one person, and I just couldn't do all of them at once. I had to give some of them up in order to give my best effort.

It's easy to fall into that trap. We can become "yes-people," always agreeing to do anything that sounds good. That is a mistake. It's better to do one or two things, and do them very well, than to do five or six things poorly. It doesn't matter if all five or six things are good and important if you can't do them well.

Right now, in my life, I've picked my things. I'm a foster mother. I adopted a dog from a rescue. I donate money to my friends who are missionaries overseas. And when an important cause comes up, such as the recent tragedy in Manchester, I give a one-time donation. I can't afford to give my money to every charity, although there are many charities that I believe in. If I did give my money and my time and my energy to every worthy cause, I'd be broke and exhausted and unable to help any new causes in the future. I have to pick and choose. That's the choice that I have, and it's a good one. By picking my things, I'm able to help more people in the long run.

I can't save the whole world. But I can make a difference, one person and one cause at a time. And so can you.

Joy in Judo

Hello, friends! My daughter and I had Judo class tonight. It was delightful. Let me tell you a few reasons why.

1) Self-defense, man. It's so important for me and my daughter to learn how to defend ourselves.

2) Judo teaches discipline and patience - something that me and my daughter both struggle with.

3) There are people my daughter's age and people my age in the class. You might know that I've struggled to make friends in Enid. Tonight I spent maybe ten minutes talking to an adult who was not a member of my church. That's so rare; I value the friendships I'm building so much!

4) I think it's wonderful that my daughter and I are able to do this together. It allows us to encourage each other. She sees that I'm not automatically good at this, that I fail (often), and that it's okay to fail. She sees me practicing and learning, and it inspires her to do the same.

5) I seriously love learning new skills, and this is completely new.

That about sums it up, I think. I'm really hoping that taking this class and sticking with it (at least for a while) will give my daughter confidence. And I'm not gonna lie, I could use some confidence too. :)

My Starfish

Hello, friends.

The other day, I wrote a blog post entitled "The Little Boy and the Starfish." I'd recommend you read that one before you read this one, because I'm going to talk about my starfish, and if you haven't read the previous post, you'll be confused.

Okay, here we go.

My starfish wears a lot of pink. She is a My Little Pony fanatic who can tell you everything there is to know about the Mane Six (and everyone else). Whenever someone enters the house, she instantly wants to play My Little Pony with them, and she will gladly play it for hours or even days at a time. Just ask Melissa or Lindsey about their recent visits to my house.

My starfish does not like homework. She doesn't mind school, but she does mind schoolwork. When she's decided that she's done for the day, that's it, and nothing her teachers say can change her mind. I seem to be the only one capable of getting her to finish her homework, and it's not exactly easy for me. She lies about it frequently and only tells the truth when I threaten to take away swimming privileges at the Y.

My starfish loves my dog, and my dog loves her. My starfish also loves little kids. She helps in the nursery on Sunday mornings and is slowly but surely learning that taking care of kids is different from being friends with them. She likes being in charge. When she plays with other kids, she sets the tone of the games.

My starfish doesn't act her age. She chews with her mouth open, shouts and screams when she gets excited or frustrated, cries to garner sympathy when things don't go her way, only uses proper hygiene techniques when forced, and has trouble thinking outside the box. When she could pick anywhere to eat, she wants McDonald's. When I ask where she wants to go to celebrate a special event, she says Wal-Mart. Those are the places she knows she likes, and she would be content to never go anywhere but those two places ever again.

My starfish is creative. She doesn't just watch movies; she watches movies, listens to the songs in the movies, creates dances for the songs, and then performs them for anyone who will watch. My starfish likes to read; her favorite series is "Pony Pals," an old favorite of mine when I was younger. My starfish can make pancakes and sew pony dresses and play a mean game of Skee Ball.

A year ago yesterday was the day I met my starfish, and I wouldn't have things any other way.

The Little Boy and the Starfish

Hello, friends.

We live in a scary world. Every day we hear about new tragedies, here in the US and around the world. Just last week here in Enid a newborn baby was found dead in a dumpster. It's still unclear how the poor child ended up there.

I often find myself feeling overwhelmed. There is so much wrong in the world. How can we have hope?

Have you ever heard the story of the little boy and the starfish? It goes something like this:

A man was walking along the seashore. Hundreds of starfish had been washed up on the sand. As he walked, the man saw a little boy picking up the starfish one by one and throwing them back into the ocean. 

Walking up to the boy, the man asked, "Why are you throwing them back? Look at how many there are. It won't make any difference."

The little boy thought for a moment, then shrugged and threw another starfish into the ocean. "It made a difference to that one," he replied.

We can't solve all of the world's problems, but that doesn't mean we can't make a difference. I don't know how that poor baby ended up in a dumpster last week, but can you imagine the difference just one person could have made?

The story of the little boy and the starfish is one that foster parents often refer to; there are so many foster children, and we can't possibly help them all - but that doesn't mean we shouldn't help the ones we can.

However, this story isn't just meaningful to foster parents. I challenge you, as we enter the Easter season, to look for the people you can help. You can make a difference. Don't lose hope.

Big Dreams

Hello, friends. Question: did you have big dreams when you were growing up? I know I did. First, I wanted to be a Drake cheerleader, then a Drake basketball player. (Did I think past college? No, no I did not.) I recall at some point wanting to be an Olympic gymnast. I also wanted to be a teacher and a famous author.

Obviously, I haven't exactly achieved those dreams. I stopped wanting to be a cheerleader when I started liking basketball more. I stopped dreaming of being a basketball player when I looked at the roster one day and saw that the shortest person on it was 5'6". I lost interest in gymnastics after about fifth grade. I'm a teacher of sorts today, but not in the way that I desired to be when I was a kid. As for the last one, well, writing a blog wasn't what I had in mind. (Although I am famous - just ask the random people in Ukraine who read my blog.)

My foster daughter has some equally interesting dreams. In the last nine months, she has expressed interest in becoming a dog groomer at PetSmart, a teacher, a DCE like me, and the director of Leonardo's Children's Museum here in town. I think she would also accept becoming a My Little Pony or a Disney princess.

Just like most of us, I'm sure my foster daughter will go through many more dreams before she settles on a career. What's important to me is that she is able to dream. Despite everything that she's gone through, she is able to look at the future and say "Someday, I will do great things." Whether she becomes a dog groomer or a teacher or a Disney princess or something entirely different, my foster daughter is going to grow up and show the world what she's made of.

I can't wait.

Why the March for Life Matters

Hello, friends. Typing with one finger slightly immobilized by a band-aid is difficult (note to self: get a cut glove), but I'm feeling passionate today. If there are spelling errors, blame it on my finger.

The March for Life was today. This meant a lot to me before, because babies dying should mean a lot to everyone. But it means a lot more to me today, because I'm a foster mother.

My foster daughter would have been a prime candidate for abortion. She was born into a low-income family, her older siblings had previously been in foster care, her father wasn't in the picture, and her mother had some mental health issues and couldn't keep a steady job. Any abortion advocate would have said that abortion was the right option, that her life would be too hard, that it would be better if she was never born.

But let me tell you, this girl loves life. She's had a hard one, to be sure, but she is smart and funny and kind. She loves animals and little kids and she will go on for days about Disney movies and cocker spaniels. Has her life been a cakewalk? Of course not, but there is no possible scenario in which it would have been better for her to die.

So don't talk to me about how abortion helps women. Abortion would have killed my foster daughter without a second thought.

My Failures as a Parent

Hello, friends.

Recently I've caught myself thinking some of these thoughts:

"Man, I'm really not good at this parenting thing."
"I can't believe I didn't notice that she wasn't brushing her hair."
"My house is such a mess... what kind of example am I setting?"
"I should be spending more time with her, but I'm so tired."
"Maybe I shouldn't be doing this."

I didn't take the easy road when I became a foster parent, that's for sure. I've never been one to take the easy road, but this - this is the hardest road I've ever walked. Foster parenting is frustrating and exhausting and overwhelming. I wonder all the time if this was a good decision.

Then I think about where my foster daughter might be if I hadn't taken her in. Yes, this situation is hard for me, but imagine what it's like for her. Here in my home, she knows that she is safe, and loved, and cared for. Those things have never been a guarantee for her before.

So when I find myself thinking about my failures as a parent, I remember that I've been doing this for a grand total of 8 months, and I am not expected to be perfect - just present.

This was never about me. It was always about her.

The Joy of Life and the People In It

Hello, friends! Today, as I was putting up Christmas decorations with my daughter, a thought struck me: it is fun to be a parent.

Now, that may seem obvious, but bear with me through my self-discovery.

Last year, I put up Christmas decorations all by myself. I didn't even have my dog for company, since she isn't allowed inside the house. But this year, my daughter and I put up the decorations together, and it was pure bliss.

We had a bunch of her art projects on the mantle; we took most of them down, but she insisted that her decorative dinosaur bones needed to stay up. Therefore, they're still on the mantle next to three nativity scenes.

Then we put up the Christmas tree. I'm innovative (read: cheap) and when my tree stand broke last year, I simply put the tree in a bucket, stuffed fabric into said bucket so that the tree would stay up, and then covered the bucket with my favorite Peruvian blanket as a tree skirt. She thought this solution was hilarious and wouldn't stop giggling. She also loved looking at all of my Christmas ornaments, especially since a good number of them have dates on them. We found two from my very first Christmas. She thought that was incredible.

My daughter also added some "ornaments": some pipe cleaners, feathers, strings, and necklaces. Because hey, who put a definition on "ornament," anyway? She also gave me a somewhat exasperated look when I put my Drake Bulldogs dog bone on the tree. "Really, Mom? Really?"

Sometimes (read: too often), I focus too much on the negative aspects of being a parent. I get irritated when she steals food from the fridge, exasperated when she doesn't do her work at school, frustrated when her hygiene leaves something to be desired, and I forget that she's also smart, beautiful, funny, enthusiastic, loving, caring, curious, and just plain fun.

So if you're like me and you often ignore the better parts of life, take a moment tonight and remember the joy of life and the people in it.

A Year and a Day Ago

Hello, friends.

A year and a day ago, I moved to Enid, Oklahoma. So much has changed, but one thing has not:

"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever." (Hebrews 13:8)

Even as I grow in my career and my personal life, even as I am DCE Mary during the day and Mom when school gets out, even as I learn who "Mary" really is, I know that my God is the same as He was when I lived in Urbandale, and Mequon, and Tallahassee. My location has changed, my position has changed, my relationships have changed, but my God has not.

What else is there to say?

Foster Parenting

Hello, friends.

A short post for you tonight.

Foster parenting is hard. It's messy. It's exhausting. It's frustrating. If it's not one thing, it's another, and there's never rest for the weary.

Foster parenting is good. It's rewarding. It's heartwarming. It's life-changing. It's new every morning and there's always a reason to smile.


I don't like lice.
I don't like allergic reactions.
I don't like phone calls from the school nurse.
I don't like uncertainty.
I don't like panic attacks.

I love my daughter.
I love her laughter.
I love her unique way of looking at the world.
I love her positive attitude.
I love my God who takes care of both of us.

Would I do it again, after all I've gone through these past two days? Without a doubt I would.