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Exhaustion.

That is the word of the day/week/month/year.

Life is good. Very good. But also exhausting.

We haven't worked on the house, really worked on the house, in a little over a month. The break has been amazing but the long list of what still needs to get done is overwhelming. It feels like a heavy blanket of burden.

But that's ridiculous.

The house is livable. Fine, really.

I haven't mustered the energy or will to unpack the millions of frames and get some stuff on the walls after, oh, I don't know, 4 months already.

The kitchen is an eyesore that I'm just going to have to live with for another year or so. God bless Rocky...He wants to fix the kitchen for me now, but it's just too much. Too much money. Too much effort. Too much dust. I can't deal with that right now. I finally feel like we're breathing semi-clean air.

Summer, what we've had of it, is rapidly coming to a close. The boys start school in a month and everything, and nothing, will change. The day's routine will still be the same, but instead of riding bikes and playing football outside, we'll be doing homework and practicing math. None of us are looking forward to it.

Work is work. The grind is the same. I am desperate for a break, but what does that even look like? Friends suggest a date night, or a small vacation, maybe just the weekend. That's not the kind of break I need. I don't need a recharge. I don't need a spark. I need a rest. Like my-soul-is-weary-and-my-bones-are-aching rest. Where does one get that when they're a full-time working, married, mom to littles? It seems so far away. Something unattainable. Like a mirage in the desert.

What will rest be then?

I don't know the answer. All I know is that I want to crawl into my pajamas and sleep. For like a month.

There really is no such thing as rest when you're a parent; Not when your kids are little, and not when they're older. I've learned that from watching mamas still struggle with worry, and fear, and doubt about their grown children's problems. It never truly ends. And it shouldn't.

But rest.

Rest would be nice.

Wind of Change

Summer always brings about the wanderlust in me. I wish I had the kind of life where I could pick up and go any time the wind blew, beckoning me to another place, much like Vianne in Chocolat. Sometimes, it does feel like I have a gypsy spirit. Restless. Bored. Eager to experience something new.

This summer has not brought about the much-needed relief from winter we expected. Very few of the summer days have been over 80 degrees and sans rain. So much rain! The weatherman announced today another kind of polar vortex blowing in next week and bringing in 60-degree temperatures. In the middle of July.

Seriously.

The boys haven't noticed. They're still running around in the backyard, begging to go to the park. They are enjoying their summer at the Y, learning science and going on field trips and taking swim lessons. I'm grateful their summer will be full of fun, learning and new friendships. Summertime is so much better when you're a kid (or retired!)

Rocky and I have taken a much-needed hiatus from home improvements the last few weeks, save for a quick fix or upgrade here or there. We need to get back to it while the weather's good; at least on the outdoor items. We can save a lot of the indoor stuff for when we're shut-ins this winter.

A few big things are on the horizon for our family in the coming months. We can't share about them yet, but they're there. Waiting to be worked out; preparing to be told. I cannot wait until I no longer have to hide behind vague words and stories. When I can name names and share details. So much of such a great story cannot be told at this time because it's protected, and fragile. Our family feels like a fortress without walls- strong but open. Secure, but vulnerable at the same time.

Back to the wind.

I have one of the only offices in my department that has an operational window. Others might have great views, but I can open my windows! There have been a few occasions where gusts of wind have blown papers off of my desk, and it felt like life rushing all around me. A life I'm missing. I comb the web looking for travel deals. Check flight schedules and prices. Daydream about destinations in which I have never been, but want to go. I check our calendar relentlessly for openings - anywhere! - where Rocky and I might get away. I do this all the time.

But the calendar keeps filling up and the summer is slipping away and there's no money for that anyway, not with the list of house projects we've amassed. And our boys are growing like weeds before our eyes, and wearing out shoes faster than we can buy news ones and asking to go to the park and wanting Daddy to play football.

My gypsy spirit wants to book that vacation, wants to getaway.

But the pull on my mommy spirit, the voice from my Father, whispers, "Stay. Be here. It's going so fast."

And so, I'll delay getting our passports. Stop looking at the travel sights. Store up our suitcases. Ignore the wind rushing through my office.

I'll be here.

I'll be present.

I'll stop looking to a new destination.

I'll gather my roots and my babies and go to the park. I'll wrap them up in hugs and kisses, push them on swings, watch them conquer the monkey bars and make new friends. Like Vianne, I will stay where I've landed. And when the wind blows, I will simply enjoy the breeze and get back to work.

God Bless the USA

May I rant for a minute?

I know it's been like a month since the last post, and you probably aren't in the mood to hear me rant, but I have some hormonal anger coursing through my veins, so let me just get it out of the way.

I am sooooooo tired of "Christians" and their politics. Like you-need-to-be-schooled and do-you-even-know-Jesus frustrated.

Racism

Bigotry.

Greed.

Selfishness.

The hot topic du jour is all these immigrant kids being bussed in from south of the border for safety and a chance at survival. "Christians" (mostly white, let's face facts) are picketing, calling for stronger boarder patrol, blocking the buses, bad-mouthing Obama, toting their guns to protect their land and safety. As if these kids are a threat to either of those things.

There isn't much that I can hold over anyone, and please understand that's not what I'm trying to do,

BUT UNLESS YOU ARE WILLING TO FOSTER, ADOPT, SUPPORT, MENTOR, AND PROVIDE FOR THESE KIDS, ALL KIDS WITHOUT A SAFE HOME, THEN SHUT UP.

Take your $100 bills, shove them in your mouth and sit in your $500,000 home with your Bibles and 2.3 kids and dog and SHUT UP.

Stop with the rhetoric.

Stop with the political garbage.

Stop with the "This land is OUR land" propaganda.

We cannot afford to live in a world with borders, bound by politics, money and fear.

We are CALLED to spread the Good News. To be representatives of Christ's promise to rescue, to heal, to save.

Christians - Please choose the god you worship. Is it the good ol' USA, or Jesus?

Torn

There are no manuals telling us how to do this right.

How to live in the already, but not yet.

I’m not talking about Jesus (although this does involve him). I’m talking about our kids. Our sons.

They are already ours, but not yet.

How do we navigate the muddy water that is reconciliation without reunification? How do we include their mom and birth family in their lives while also trying to establish normalcy and permanency?

Last Tuesday our six-year old graduated from Kindergarten with the biggest smile on his face I have ever seen. After he walked across that stage and picked up his “diploma,” we gathered him up with all of his precious school belongings- memories and treasures from the past year- and waved goodbye to a school he will not be attending next year.

In his backpack was a notebook filled with drawings, and journalings and actual printed photographs of him from the school year. It was such a joyful surprise for us to be able to glimpse his life in the classroom. Pictures with friends, on field trips, doing school work. Pouring over those pages made me tear up at how much our boy has grown, not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, intellectually and spiritually. He is a completely different child than he was eight months ago.

Two days later was a visitation day, and our boy was so excited to see his mom and tell her all about graduation. He asked if he could bring the notebook to show her. I knew there was a chance it would not make it back home. I sat him down and I told him that of course he could bring the notebook, but that it was very important for him to bring it back home so that he could show his kids someday when he’s a daddy. The thought of that made him giggle with excitement. He couldn’t wait to show his kids!

Off he went to visitation.

When it came time for pickup it was discovered that he had given the notebook to his mom.

“She asked if she could keep it,” he said.

And I was livid.

Like seeing red livid.

How could she ask him for that, knowing he would not be able to tell her, “no?” How could he let go of that book after I told him specifically that it was to come back home with him? That was his book. Our book. Documented proof of triumphs and victories in a year marred by hurt and fear and pain. Those colored pages and smiling pictures show the boy we know; the one who lives in our home and runs to us for hugs and still asks to be tucked in every night. The boy who loves to draw and ride his skateboard and play catch. This book belongs to him.

I made Rocky get it back from her.

He said she looked hurt.

I didn’t even feel bad. At first.

But that was my pride. That was my “I-told-you-very-clearly-you-had-to-bring-it-back-home-and-do-as-I-ask” pride.

I missed it.

I missed my boy’s heart.

He wanted his mama to see what she’s missed all year.

He wanted her to validate how smart he was, how handsome, how important.

I don’t know if she did that, although I would assume she did. She loves him.

He got in the car sullen because he knew he was in trouble. He gave away something precious after he was told not to, and he was going to have a consequence.

My heart broke.

We told him he was not in trouble. That we know how much he loves his mom and that we understand that he would want to give his notebook to her. We told him that it’s good that he loves her so much and wants to share, and that we know she wanted the book because she loves and misses him so much.

I told him I would make a copy of the notebook to give to his mom.

That made him very happy, because keeping the original would allow him to show his kids someday. (His words)

These babies. They’re ours day-in and day-out. For 24 hours a day, everyday, except for 4 hours a month when they’re not. And those four hours mean so much.

They remind us all that they’re ours, but not really.

She will always be there. She will always be their mom. I will always be waiting in the wings of their hearts for them to come home.

It will always be this way; it will just get different with time. They will always be split in two.

Milestones. Birthdays. Holidays.

We are stuck with the decision every time: do we include their mom, and in what capacity?

Graduation came and went without his mom there. A few days later he asked, “Nicole, how come my mom didn’t come to my graduation?”

With his words my heart fell out of my chest and shattered. As I gathered the pieces back together I told him the truth. His school had only given two tickets to each family to attend. We requested a third ticket multiple times so that we could invite his mom. The school said no. That was the truth.

It didn't soften the blow, even though his six-year old mind understood.

They will always be split in two.

As we near adoption, it is completely up to us whether or not we will continue a relationship with the boys and their birth family (including siblings). We, of course, plan on continuing as if nothing has changed.

But how do you decide how much? How much more of your life to give up, sacrifice, put on the altar so that your kids get as much love and connection as possible? How do you decide if you’ll celebrate the holidays somewhere else, knowing they won’t get to see their mom (and she won’t get to see them)? How do you choose where to have birthdays, and who to invite to important events, and how to integrate them with our families while maintaining their connection to their first family?

We fumble sometimes.

Other times we give it all. We place ourselves last so that they (and she) can be first.

We get it wrong a lot.

But I look at these boys, and I gather my tape and my glue and my needle and thread and I think, they don’t have to be split in two. At least not completely. We can hold them together. We can mend them enough to weather the separation caused by wear and tear and time.

We can live happily in the already, but not yet.

We have Jesus here.

And He is our strength.

And He will carry us on wings like eagles.

Come Thou Fount

(Warning: Long, rambling post ahead)

When we were in the process of selling off possessions to move across the country I was in a bad place.

But not for the reason you'd think.

I wasn't overcome at having to leave the ones I loved.

I wasn't grieving the job I had worked at for 12 years, or the house I had purchased on my own as a single woman.

Those things bothered me, of course.

But they didn't shake me.

Stinging from an unfavorable appraisal that cost us $17,000 in an expected profit on the sale of our house, I became frustrated at God and resentful that we were taking such a radical step of faith and feeling like we were being punished. (If I could go back in time and punch myself, I would. Radical? No. Obedient? Ok, maybe.) Every financial misstep I felt Rocky made resulted in a fight, all of which I instigated. Every time someone got a "good deal" on the things we were unloading, I got a pit in my stomach and a little angry flame in my heart.

You see, I've posted before that I have issues with money. I tie it to security. I think it keeps me afloat. Safe.

I am guilty of praising God for the blessings in the harvest, and cursing Him in the draught.

Now let's get real- I have NEVER been in a draught. Ever.

Not once have I been hungry.

Not once have I been involuntarily unemployed.

Not once have I lacked shelter.

I have received more than a fair share of provision.

The ironic thing about my love of money is that I also love to share it.

It is a great joy to both Rocky and I to give, to bless. It's one of the qualities that attracted me to him the most in the beginning of our relationship. We were both cheerful givers.

But stress changes a person's gifts. It shifts their motives. It invites fear.

The stress of leaving behind a life well-lived to plant a church in a big city with people I didn't know after being married for only eight months broke my generous spirit.

I no longer wanted to share.

I was already giving so much!

How could He ask for more?

I confessed to a Rocky the other night during a devotional on forgiveness that the time I have been most angry at him was an incident related to money.

How silly is that?

How damaging and wicked.

He was surprised. To him, he could think of other things he's done or said that should have upset me more.

But no.

It was about money.

Let me be very clear right now.

Every blessing I have is from the Lord. And every financial blessing I have received in the last three years has come from God , but has been funneled through Rocky.

I have saving tendencies and Rocky has spending tendencies. At one time we were both on extreme opposite ends. Now we've edged in towards the middle as we work as a team to decide when to save and when to spend. When we got together, I had a savings account and no credit card debt; Rocky had the opposite.

And then God blessed Rocky abundantly with financial gifts for educational expenses, military benefits, etc. Rocky was able to pay off his debt, pay off my car a year early and replenish our savings account.

Before we moved, Rocky sold his beloved Barracuda so that we would have enough money in savings to take some time off work when we got to Chicago. When we both got jobs here we agreed to (some) self-sacrifice so that we could continue to put money away for long-term savings.

Then Rocky wanted to start looking for a house, and I fought him on it.

We just built up our savings account!

Why do you want to spend it all now?

Sigh.

What is my deal?

Rocky is no dummy. He knows that real estate is a better investment than our savings account. He also knows I'm afraid to not have cash money in the bank. He knows how much I fear not being able to take care of ourselves. He knows my pride.

And he is so lovingly patient with me.

Firm, but patient.

So we bought a house. And there went our savings account.

And then a funny thing happened.

We got a nice, fat check back at closing that equaled about half of our down payment.

Then we got a check double that amount for past-due GI bill benefits.

Then yesterday we got the surprise of a (financial) lifetime. 

We received a letter from the VA that Rocky's disability rating had been reviewed and increased exponentially. 

We will be receiving a very generous monthly benefit for the rest of Rocky's life.

Not only that, but they credited these new benefits to us dated back to May 2012. That's 25 months, if you're counting.

This morning we woke up to more money in our account than we've ever seen in our lives.

We immediately stopped and thanked the Lord.

We gave praise.

We gave thanks.

We looked at each other with tears in our eyes.

We were astounded by God's love for us.

Especially me, when I'm so petty and scared and greedy.

And all day praise has been on my lips.

Because I know this is the harvest.

And I know that at some point, the draught will come.

And I will be bitter again.

And so this is my prayer:

Ode to grace, how great a debtor

Daily I'm constrained to be

And let Thy goodness like a fetter

Bind my wandering heart to Thee

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it

Prone to leave the God I love

Here's my heart, Lord, take and seal it

Seal it for Thy courts above

Take my heart, Lord.

Seal it.

Bind my wandering heart to thee.

Amen.

Show Me Your Glory

Sharing your story is never easy.

Even when you're sharing with trusted friends, sisters of a kind, comrades...it still isn't easy to display your scars and retell the battle.

It always amazes me how all the emotion is still there, but without the hurt, or pain, or anger. Only the beauty remains. Only the truth reverberates.

Healing.

Wholeness.

Reconciliation.

Why do you think that is? When we look back on a story of wrongs and hurts and disappointments, a story aged and weathered and known by heart, how is it that forgiveness has left the emotions, still raw, but not the feelings?

I guess that's what the saying, "Forgive, but don't forget," means.

When I was younger, and bitter over life's unfairness, I would think to myself, "Never forget because it will happen again and you will need to protect yourself."

Oh, how wrong I was.

That's not why we don't forget. Not at all.

We don't forget because it's a beautiful remembrance. It honors our experiences, deepens our love and compassion.

Much like observing Good Friday. We never forget. Forgive? Yes, even Jesus forgave while hanging battered and bruised from the cross. And so we forgive. But forget? Never.

Remember.

We remember to join in with the suffering.

We remember to celebrate the victory that came three long days later.

The moments in our own lives of death and pain and sacrifice, we remember for the same reasons. There is beauty in the suffering where forgiveness has been spoken because we've lived the grace that comes next. We've celebrated the victory when we've joined with Jesus in making all things new.

I love that my tears still fall for old wounds.

I'm thankful God has allowed me to never forget.

I'm grateful He has given me safe places to tell my story.

I'm hopeful that my friends walking the hard road now will see a light at the end of the tunnel, a road to peace and forgiveness and freedom.

I'm praying for their wounds to be bound up and healed by a Savior who rescues and redeems.

I know it's possible.

I have the scars to prove it, and they're beautiful.

I Got You, Babe

Do you ever get that feeling like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop? Like life just seems too good?

I find myself asking God, "Why?" a lot.

"Why did I get this promotion, God?"

"Why did you give us such a better house than we thought to ask for?"

"Why are you so good to us, God?"

It seems silly, I know.

Just count your blessings and shut up, amiright?

Every morning (sometimes evening, if we run out of time), Rocky and I do a couples devotion before the boys wake up. They carry a theme through for a week and at the end of each daily devotion they pose a question that you're both supposed to answer. Questions like, "How will you actively show your spouse grace today?" and "In what way can you use exhortation to encourage your spouse today?" They're basic questions that sometimes leave us rolling our eyes or staring at each other like "dumb pigeons," (as Jen Hatmaker would say.)

The other night, Rocky asked, "Are we just totally in denial about our marriage or is it really as good as we think it is?"

Let me tell you, friends. We tried really hard to think of something, anything! that we could work on, grow in, ask forgiveness for. It isn't often we can think of something. (Disclaimer: We know what our issues, annoyances, struggles are. We're not blind or ignorant. But major stuff? We draw a big, fat blank.)

It got me thinking...Is it really that good? Is our marriage really that charmed? Are we as in love as it feels we are?

I would have to answer with a resounding YES!

I'm no dumb dumb.

Rocky and I had both been in some crummy, hurtful, toxic relationships before we met each other. We both know what it's like to find ourselves in a heap of defeat and despair on the floor due to having our hearts broken. We've also broken hearts.

The reality is that although we're not perfect (Thank you, Jesus, that we don't have to be perfect!), we are so meant for each other. We fit. We go together. We're one flesh.

And just like that all the questions, all the wondering about our potential delusion, all the waiting in expectation for things to get real....it all fades away.

He is my man.

I am his woman.

We are so blissfully, stupidly, crazily in love that sometimes it surprises me. That something can be that good, that right.

And then I think about Jesus.

And I think that Rocky is the closest I will see to Him this side of Heaven.

And that makes the waiting a little bit easier.