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.
Monday, April 23, 2018
Sunday, March 11, 2018
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.
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.
Monday, February 19, 2018
Our Young People Lost in Parkland, FL
Hello, friends.
As a DCE, I work with young people a lot. On Sunday mornings, you’ll find me providing children’s messages and teaching the high school Bible class. On Wednesday afternoons, I’m hanging out with elementary school kids, leading them in prayer and helping them with crafts. Annually, I lead events like Vacation Bible School and the children’s Christmas program and all-youth lock-ins. You get the idea: I’m with young people, or thinking about young people, pretty much all the time.
As a DCE, I work with young people a lot. On Sunday mornings, you’ll find me providing children’s messages and teaching the high school Bible class. On Wednesday afternoons, I’m hanging out with elementary school kids, leading them in prayer and helping them with crafts. Annually, I lead events like Vacation Bible School and the children’s Christmas program and all-youth lock-ins. You get the idea: I’m with young people, or thinking about young people, pretty much all the time.
Tragedies like the school shooting in Parkland, Florida, hit
close to my heart, because it’s so easy for me to close my eyes and picture the
victims as young people that I know, young people that I work with every week. Those
poor young people, I think to myself, as I am thanking God that they weren’t my young people.
The fact of the matter is that the victims were my young people. I might not have
known their names or faces, but they were mine, just like they were yours. We are
all responsible for each other. "Am I my brother's keeper?" Cain asks God in the book of Genesis. God doesn't dignify his question with a response, because of course Cain is his brother's keeper. Even if the story of Cain and Abel had played out radically differently - if Cain had not killed his brother in a jealous rage - the answer still would have been yes. We are responsible for each other. Part of being human is taking care of one another. I am your keeper, and you are mine, and we are all the keepers of the seventeen innocent lives lost last week.
The survivors of this senseless attack are angry. They want change; they are demanding change. I'm not pretending to know all the answers, but here's what I do know: we are all responsible for each other. If there's something, anything, that we can do or give or say that will prevent another tragedy like this one, we should be doing it, and giving it, and saying it.
Let's honor the young people that we lost, and work towards lasting change that will ensure something like this never happens again.
As I said, I am not, in any way, pretending to know all the answers. However, I welcome helpful dialogue that will help me and others learn how we can be better keepers of each other. If anyone had ideas to share, put them in the comments below or on my Facebook post.
Thursday, February 1, 2018
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?
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?
Saturday, December 2, 2017
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.
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.
Friday, November 17, 2017
Public Service Announcement
Hello, friends. I'd like to make a public service announcement, so bear with me.
Unfortunately, but unsurprisingly, more sexual abuse/harassment allegations have come to light this week. I have no inside knowledge of any of these allegations, obviously, but I want to make something clear: just because something seems to be announced at a convenient time doesn't mean it's not true. It also doesn't mean that it is true. The important thing to remember here is that the majority of sexual assault cases go unreported. Approximately two out of every three victims don't report the crimes committed against them, and every time a victim comes forward and we accuse him or her of lying, another victim decides not to say anything, because they assume they won't be believed.
Some people lie about being assaulted. Far more people don't tell anyone, and their abusers have more opportunities to abuse other people. So no matter what the circumstances may look like, it's vital for us to give everyone who comes forward a fair hearing and a chance at justice.
This has become more personal for me in the past several years, first because of my short-lived position at a residential treatment center, then because of my involvement with the Children's Home Society in Tallahassee, and most recently, because of my vocation as a foster parent. In each of these situations I have encountered young people who have been abused. I can only imagine what the consequences would have been had those young people come forward with their stories and been shut down.
I suppose my point is this: don't assume, and show compassion.
Unfortunately, but unsurprisingly, more sexual abuse/harassment allegations have come to light this week. I have no inside knowledge of any of these allegations, obviously, but I want to make something clear: just because something seems to be announced at a convenient time doesn't mean it's not true. It also doesn't mean that it is true. The important thing to remember here is that the majority of sexual assault cases go unreported. Approximately two out of every three victims don't report the crimes committed against them, and every time a victim comes forward and we accuse him or her of lying, another victim decides not to say anything, because they assume they won't be believed.
Some people lie about being assaulted. Far more people don't tell anyone, and their abusers have more opportunities to abuse other people. So no matter what the circumstances may look like, it's vital for us to give everyone who comes forward a fair hearing and a chance at justice.
This has become more personal for me in the past several years, first because of my short-lived position at a residential treatment center, then because of my involvement with the Children's Home Society in Tallahassee, and most recently, because of my vocation as a foster parent. In each of these situations I have encountered young people who have been abused. I can only imagine what the consequences would have been had those young people come forward with their stories and been shut down.
I suppose my point is this: don't assume, and show compassion.
Friday, November 3, 2017
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.
"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.
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