The Race that Never Happened

The journey to my second marathon is a story, I tell you. It starts with registering right after my surgery in June. I put it on the calendar as a goal. A way to remind myself that my body was capable of lots of things. I got excited about it and started training as soon as I was cleared to run.

Fast forward through months and months of training.  Better training than last year, in fact. E and I were pretty confident we could beat last year's time. And even better? Our team was raising more money for St. Jude than we ever had before.  Our first year there were four of us and this year we were up to 19. The funds kept pouring in and we were so excited for the Mizzou Maniacs to have a fun, productive time in Memphis to benefit St. Jude and introduce new team members to this great race and amazing hospital.

Well, right before Thanksgiving I got bronchitis and started to get a little nervous about the race. But I was hellbent on running. I was going to run NO MATTER WHAT. Because I am stubborn as a mule very determined.

We packed and were ready to go Thursday. This is our 5th year running this race so we have a pretty good game plan. E and I head to my parents' house the night before and then we all travel together early Friday morning. We started on the roads to my parents' and an hour in, we slipped, slid, and turned around to go home. We had high hopes of going Friday but couldn't make any decisions.

Friday morning we hemmed and hawed but eventually decided to get going, along with my brother, his girlfriend, and best friend. I'll spare you the details of our harrowing journey. Bottom line: It took us way too long, it was way too scary, and we arrived late to the expo to get our tickets to the fundraising banquet. Right as we arrived, they canceled the race. Perfect timing.

Trees down the street from the expo. Long travels mean I had a dead phone for the banquet.

I won't lie. Tears. They arrived. I didn't shed them but they welled up in my eyes. All that travel and we weren't even going to get a chance to run. But Rick Shadyac, the fundraising CEO for St. Jude, was sadder than I could ever be. He stood on that stage and very apologetically explained that 30% of their volunteers had already canceled, as well as 15% of their medical staff. Branches were falling all over the city and Tennessee was in a state of emergency. The wise thing to do was to cancel the race. And so they opened beer in the back of the ballroom and we all understood. Mostly.

We went back to the expo to grab some St. Jude gear (can't have enough of that!) and saw the coolest thing...an SUV with the names of every HERO (fundraiser) on it. Check it out!

Pretty neat, huh? While we were at that car, I ran into a sweet patient. Miss J is a teenager who was in chemo for a brain tumor last year during the race. She brought a team from her small Mississippi town this year and her team was so bummed to miss the race.  We commiserated together as she told me about her story. St. Jude began to treat her tumor but then referred her to the premiere specialist to remove her tumor. This specialist happened to not be a St. Jude doc. So when the bill for almost $90,000 arrived, the family was overwhelmed. But...because St. Jude referred them to that hospital, they paid it. Every dime.

Keycard to our hotel

This is why we run.  This is why we traveled through the snow to get there. It didn't matter that the race didn't happen. Miss J is so appreciative of St. Jude. And she thanked us for being there. Wow.

Since we didn't get to run, we put on our jerseys and headed down to Beale Street to enjoy some jazz at B.B. King's. 

cute parents!

No, E is not wearing his jersey. Because for some reason they didn't have one in his size. But cute St. Jude shirt, right??

We woke up Saturday even more deflated. But we put on our gear and headed to the fundraising lounge. There, lots of people were milling around, eating, taking pics, and commiserating about all the training that ended in a cold, frozen weekend. At least we looked cute.

We sat down next to a St. Jude family and Sweet C. told me his story. He's been a St. Jude patient for 13 years. He has his own team and even invited us to join. We promised we'd find him again next year.  He thanked us for his hard work and told us story after story of how much his family appreciates St. Jude.

This is why we run. Or don't run. This is why we love St. Jude.

CEO of the Fundraising arm of St. Jude, Rick Shadyac

When we finished our time at the lounge, ran by the stadium. It was icy and reaffirmed why they didn't have the race.

But they did give us a finisher medal. Getting there was accomplishment enough. So we said thanks and wore our medals with pride.

Check out all that ice!

We went to Rendezvous, our after-race tradition, and enjoyed some ribs.

Then, we geared up for a sad game. And that's all I'm going to say about that. Here's our team watching the game:

So you could say the weekend was a bust. But I just can't say that.  My supporters raised more than $1,000 and our team, jointly, raised $11,264,73. That, my friends, is a big deal.

Special and overwhelming thanks to each of you who donated, wished us well, prayed for us, and encouraged us along the way.

Will we run another race to make up for this one? We haven't decided. We'll have the opportunity to apply our race fees to another marathon. But that means continued training in the cold. So for now we're going to get in the holiday spirit and decide about the race later.

Either way, St. Jude hasn't seen the last of us! Next year we'll have bigger fundraising dreams and a point to prove. We'll be back, Memphis. You haven't seen the last of the Mizzou Maniacs!!

The Best Part

It's easy to miss it. That piece of my heart that sings. That knows each moment of a busy morning is important. That stops to breathe in the scent of the baby shampoo.  That understands the cry and the longing of a toddler and doesn't put him on a to-do list.

Tuesday mornings are one of the busiest times in my job. Moms bring dozens of little people in and we love them and teach them church is safe and hope they walk away with a little deeper understanding of the bible.  I always look forward to it but I find myself rushing through. Checking off my to-do list. Making sure diapers get changed, no one is screaming, and everyone is safe and happy on the playground.

Some mornings, though, I get the chance to savor. I would be lying if I said I like the stand back and observe approach. Most of the time, Sundays or Tuesdays, you'll find me in a classroom. I like to be "in the action." What's that? A baby is crying? Let me hold her. A preschooler is having a rough morning? Can I talk to him? Honestly, I maybe a little too hands-on sometimes. I love it, though.  I only get one or two days a week and I take advantage of them.

So the savoring...

The beginning of today was rushed. Filled with checking things off the list, making sure everyone knew all the pertinent information. Then it turned to discipline. Major, heart-wrenching discipline.

Little A was waiting. He was doing his best to try to make himself happy with other sitters. But each time he'd look over and reach for me, I didn't have the ability to take him yet. I'd say, "I promise, buddy! I'm there as soon as I handle this one more thing..."and then had to go back to the discipline and the rosters and the everyday stuff.

With less than an hour left, I grabbed Little A and we settled in.  He was finally happy to snuggle in my arms.  The back story is it's taken him a year to like me. Ours is a love that's rooted in hardship, in trust, in perseverance.

I held him and watched as he fought to stay upright. He was ready to sleep--something I've never seen him do in my care.  I put on my favorite lullaby on repeat and we rocked and swayed. I watched his eyelids get heavy. I watched him look to me and trust me enough to lose consciousness in my arms. And I prayed over him, praying God would help Little A to know how much he loved him. That God would build him and firmly root him. And I teared up. Thinking of how much I love Little A. What a privilege it is to build relationship with him on Sundays and Tuesdays. I wondered if he would ever know there was a 30 year old woman, waiting for her little one, snuggling him, so thankful for the hope he brought. When he's my age, he probably won't know me. But I pray he knows Jesus.

I read my friend Courtney's blog today. She's in Ethiopia.  She's visiting orphanages and seeing children in devastating circumstance. And she's loving them. Rocking them to sleep, singing them songs about Jesus. Praying over them. I may never know if she meets my little one. But I get comfort in knowing there are people out there, loving my little one like I would want to.

Today was one more reminder that my job is not valued in the eyes of the world. I won't get a medal. I won't even get the value of watching these children grow into adults and seeing how God uses them. But I get glimpses now. A reach and a snuggle. A kiss blown by sticky, chubby toddler fingers. A child who tells the Bible story to Mom without being prompted. And I know someday, when all the sadness has gone, I will see many of them on the other side and we can celebrate our savior together.

And my heart sings.

Grace--A Post About Waiting Two Years

Two years. Of waiting. Today.

So today could be a hard day. But as it turns out, we are so blessed it's actually a great, beautiful example of God's grace.  For those of you who haven't heard. let me explain.

I got a sweet letter last week from a woman in our church who told me she'd be praying for me at 3:30 today. It was a beautiful note, explaining her own adoption story and telling me how she would be praying for me today.

Well, I told a coworker about this sweet note and she pulled me aside to confess she'd been up to something. Something big.

Knowing today would be a difficult day for us, this sweet, precious friend of mine had asked those who know us to sign up for a spot to pray for us today.

Every thirty minutes. All day long today. Starting at midnight. People have been praying for us. And for IC (imaginary child).

People who know us well and people who don't know us as well. People who are related to us and people who feel like they should be we are so close.

She showed me the spreadsheet and told me it filled very quickly. Even the times in the middle of the night.  Of course, I couldn't stop the tears from flowing.  I'm trying not to cry now just typing about it.

I was already in tears when I started to realize some people had signed up as "So and So's Mom" and right then and there I lost it.  Something about seeing mamas we mostly know only by caring for their children praying for our child was just too much to bear.  Mamas who hand their sons and daughters over the door to my husband in the walkers room. Or know me from the hallway. I just can't. It's just too much. I don't know why but something about it just was overwhelming.

As I read through the sheet, there were some times that had three and four people praying.

I don't even know how to express feelings about this.

Grace.

This is what grace looks like.

People loving each other. Loving us.  Taking time out of their day. Their night.  To pray for us.  We don't deserve this kindness.

But for grace.

I will treasure this document forever.

I can't pay these people back.  I wouldn't even know how to begin.

Grace.

As E and I hit the pillow last night, we knew people would be praying for us as we slept. We prayed for them and thanked God for a community who love us so, so well.

I woke up today, knowing his grace really is new every morning.  E and I had a delightful breakfast together before work and still, I really could only think about everyone praying for us.

I just had to share this because he's so sweet and darling. Can't wait to see him as a dad.

I put the link on our chain.  Here's the verse I chose for the 24th month of waiting:

Phil 4:6-7 "Do not be anxious about anything, but through everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, submit your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Today marks two years of officially waiting for our referral (that phone call where they'll call and tell us they've matched us with a child). Two years since our paperwork was sent on an airplane to Ethiopia.

Pay no attention to the backpacks and laundry baskets that have overtaken our whole house:)

I went back today and read our announcement post, where I told the world we were officially accepted into the Ethiopia program for our agency.  On that post I said we thought it would take between one and two years to bring our child home.  We've seen lots of changes to the program in the past two years and it's become clear that original timeframe was a little off base.

Or a lot.

In some ways, I can't believe it's been two years since we sent our paperwork to Ethiopia. In other ways it seems like it's been forever.  Here's one thing I know:

I am not the same woman who stood at Fed Ex two years ago and dropped the most important paperwork of her life into an overnight express envelope.

I was told the wait would change me. It has. My heart looks different. My life looks different. My desires look different. But one thing hasn't changed:

I can't wait to bring home our child.

Of course, the idea of who our child is has changed a little. Or a lot.

My expectations of what that process and the challenges that will lie within have changed a little. Or a lot.

But ultimately, God has grown our hearts more for his desires and to care for his people.

We don't know how long we'll keep waiting but we sure can see how far we've come.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. To each and everyone one of you who hold us in your hearts. We are waiting for our child but we are not waiting for our blessings. We are already blessed more than we can even hold. Thank you for blessing us. Thank you for your prayers.

"Tis grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home."

An update by way of iphone photos

This is where I admit to you that I haven't blogged in a month because I desperately want to blog about something adoption-related. And I think many of you want an update.

But there is no update to be had. As Ethiopia goes through one more set of changes in procedure, nothing is really happening in the way of referrals.

Oh, lots is happening in our lives. Just nothing with the adoption. So in some ways it feels like we're in one of those holding pattern phases again. Desperately hoping someone, anyone will get a referral so we can be renewed in hope.  We're mere days from the 2 year mark. Don't worry. I'll blog on our two year mark. But, alas, we are in the "trust God and be still" part of life.

I got a letter in the mail today. From a family in our church. They told me they'd be praying for me on Monday. They told their story of waiting for their son and how it worked out. It was so beautiful. It's easy to feel like people are only with us for the exciting parts of the journey. It was great to be reminded that our family and our Father are present in the quiet moments, too.

So, I thought today being the 13th (our favorite day around here, in case you had forgotten) I should post. And what makes a better post after a one-month absence than an iphone dump. So in no particular order, this is what is happening in our lives as we try to live on and not wait in suspense, knowing that real life is happening in every moment and not just the adoption-related ones.

OK you caught me. This one was adoption-related. Our 23 months post. We added one more link to the chain with the verse that's been keeping me sane lately. Psalm 18:30 "This God--his way is perfect; the word of the LORD proves true; he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him."

Good thing the chain is cute. The wait is so not.

Oh yeah. The football. So very much football.  If I were to describe my fall it would go like this:  run, football, work, /repeat. 

As it turns out we are good this year. Like, seriously good. Who knew? Not even we did at the beginning of the season but we keep winning so that's a lot of fun. A lot more fun than last year. We're even talking SEC championships and stuff.  Of course, there's no hope for winning that one. Sure would be a lot of fun to play, though.

Cute best friend, right? Right. We both like vests, natch.

No, we didn't move. Orphan Sunday was November 3. In an amazing turn of events our church gave around 200 backpacks to one of our local foster care agencies. So what I'm basically saying is I've been inventorying backpacks in my awake free time for the past few weeks and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. 

We were blown away by our church's support for foster care. One of the things I specifically prayed for after attending Summit was to develop a greater support for foster care in our community. We've got a long way to go but this was a beautiful step.  

As I unpacked and checked backpacks, it went like this: open pack, cry at the generosity of people, pack it back up and pray, go to the next one.

This was, by far, the best Orphan Sunday I've been a part of. I am still praying God will use this and it would be great if you could join me.

This is Jerry.  No, not my husband. The dog. We have a new foster puppy currently. He's adorable and very stinky. We love him dearly and hope he finds a great new home. And in no way do we secretly want to keep him. We definitely want him to find a great home.

Unless we keep him. 

I kid. I kid. We can't do 3 dogs right now. My head would explode. So if you know a great family who wants a crate trained, potty-trained, beautiful, super sweet and snuggly dog who growls at ALL THE THINGS, contact me.

And finally, we got to see Eric's aunt late last week. I had never met Auntie R. That's mostly because she lives in Nepal. And has for the entirety of our marriage. So it was so cool to meet her. And a bonus: I found out E has some blue-eyed genes in his family line. So you're telling me there's a chance...

And that's about it for our lives right now. They're full. We just need to remember that. Full and beautiful. And not dictated by a wait.

I keep saying. Over and over and over.

Little One Letter

Hello Little One,

It's bright and early here but it's late afternoon on your side of the world. Sometimes I like to look at what time it is in Ethiopia and wonder what you're up to. Of course, that will all depend on how old you are. And boy (or girl), would I like to know!

I think of you each and every day. I wonder if today will be the day we'll get a call that will tell us more about you. I dream of what that call will look like. What will I be doing?  Will your hair be in tight curls or sweet braids? Will you be smiling nervously or maybe you're so shy they won't be able to coax a smile out of you for the picture. Will there be one or two of you in that picture?

There was a time I was writing to you, not sure if you were even born. I think we can be pretty certain you are born, now that we think you're a little older. Still, there are so many uncertainties.

Yesterday I had to run lots of errands and I thought of what it would be like to have you as a shadow. You probably wouldn't have liked sitting in Jiffy Lube for 40 minutes. But...there was a cute baby who would have been sitting next to us. Maybe you would have smiled. Maybe we would have all played together. Or maybe you and I would have been actively played hopscotch in the parking lot and we wouldn't have even noticed the cute baby. Things are going to be so different when you get here. I can't even imagine. Or wait. But I do wait.

Please know, little one, I pray for you so, so often. It breaks my heart to think of everything that's happening on your side of the world before you become ours.  I pray for your safety every day. I pray for people to love you and sing to you.  I have a friend headed to Ethiopia in a few days. I wonder if she will meet you. Are you already in the transition home? Will she play ball with you or paint your nails? Will she sing to you or hug you until I can get there? Only our heavenly father knows but I can't wait for his plans to be revealed.

Little one, I would wait forever for you but I hope I don't have to. I love you!

love,

mom

I Don't Know About You...I'm Feeling 22

Well hey there friends. It's been 22 months of waiting for us. What? You didn't think I meant 22 years old right? Because: reality check. I turned 30 this month. Yup. And frankly, I don't think anyone thinks I am 22. Mostly because of my genius wisdom and wit. But seriously, I went to get a glass of wine for my birthday dinner with my BFF. They carded her. They carded the couple next to us. Me? Not so much.

I am SO not 22.

And also this: I went to the Mumford & Sons concert the day after my birthday (shout out to my dear friend for the courtesy tickets) and I was seriously ready to fall asleep before the headliner even came on.  NOT KIDDING. Like full on "I wonder if anyone will notice if I fall asleep here in the grass and take a 15 minute nap before the band comes on." Alas, the scents wafting back from the actual 22 year olds in front of us kept my stomach rolling and my eyes open (and rolling if I do say so!).

Me and Man Friend, trying not to fall asleep at Mumford & Sons. So this is 30.

Birthday presents when you turn 30? Ones you actually get excited about?

A toaster. That works. Because the one you've been using for about a year has no middle heat element. Check out this new beauty:

Guys. It's red. Booyah, that's what I say.

Yeah, aside from toasters, apparently the theme of my 30th birthday was, more wine please!

My mom and dad got me a super cute wine glass. See?



And they took us all to the winery for the lunch. I should have gotten a picture of all of us together. Did I? No. Apparently the glass of wine took precedence. I don't know. I'm too old to remember things like "take pictures of your family at your birthday celebration."

Just pretend this is a picture of the 5 of us instead of a lovely glass of Norton.

So yes. I had a great birthday. Not a 22nd birthday.

All that to say. This is not about my age.

AND...don't speak a word about my blog title. I'm pretending it's fine. Worry about yourself. I'll let you know when I have a solution. Mkay?

So, 22.

Months waiting, that is.  Yes, last week was my 30th birthday and my 22nd month of waiting. We have not moved in any direction since our big change in request. I will say that's just fine but reality is it's the kind of fine you say when your mom says go to your room when you're ten.

"Fine!"

But not really. It's a bit of a bummer.  Still, the wait cultivates a heart like his, yes? I know the answer without asking the question.

Yesterday I was having a particularly hard day. I messaged a friend who had been there. She told me to grab a bible and read Psalm 40 ASAP. Which was a little awesome because my bible reading the day before was Psalm 40. He knew I needed a double dose reminder that waiting on him is part of the plan.  God has already redeemed me. He set my feet on a rock. But? I must wait patiently and he will draw me out of this pit as well.

And also, thank you to THAT friend who commiserated for one second before sending me straight to my Bible. Amen.

And so, my verse for month 22:

Psalm 40:1 "I waited patiently for the Lord. He turned to me and heard my cry."

Funny how God always has the right words.

Oh God, set our feet on the rock. Keep us focused on your path when all we can see is what we don't have.

That chain is lovely and lonely. And still. God is faithful in the wait. He's called us here.  No matter when and how the outcome.

22? I'm feeling it.

The Funds. They Keep Coming.

Don't think I've forgotten about you. I've wanted to post our fundraising progress for a while now. Except, well, last week this is what our internet was like:

...

Seriously. No internet. All week. Because, you know, for fun.  Except not fun at all. Finally our company got a repair guy out last Friday. So then I would have posted.

Except football season. And you know me and football season, don't you? Well, if you don't I'd be happy to share more. Except I can't. Because I essentially took zero pictures. Something about being in 100 degree heat for 12 hours makes me not very photo-happy.  Anyway, tiger victory. Let's move on to the week before last week, shall we?

So first, the t-shirts arrived a week ago Thursday. I was so very nervous.  We had the goal of selling 100 t-shirts.  I was hopeful but realistically thought we might not make it.  With a few days to go, we weren't there yet. And I don't know if it's theologically appropriate to pray for t-shirt sales but I did it anyway. And the day we put our order in? It was for 157 t-shirts.

You guys.

They arrived and my fears were immediately put at ease. They were softer than I expected. They were cooler than I had hoped. And since I got both colors, they are now two of my favorite shirts in my closet. We were so blessed to work with a great company, have wonderful people purchase them, and all around just have a fabulous t-shirt selling experience. So fabulous we are considering making a second order.

What a total blessing.

After accounting for the costs of the t-shirts, shipping, etc., we made right around $1500. I couldn't be happier. We were praising God!!

And then a little less after we realized we had to sort and ship all those t-shirts.

I kid. But seriously. They took over our house. The day before trivia. Which was, in it self, kind of a big deal. Exhibit A, my dining room table:

Yeah. That's less than half. They were all over my house. On every piece of furniture. But we were so thankful for the funds they raised.  

The day after t-shirts we gathered for what was quite possibly one of the most fun nights of my life: Trivia Night.

To say I was nervous was an understatement. My wedding was about half the size of trivia night. Never had so many people gathered to support me in an endeavor. It was completely overwhelming.

I ran like a crazy person all day but really didn't have that much to do. Why, you ask? Because I have a wonderful group of friends who took on so many of the organizational and gathering tasks. And by 6:30 everything was ready to go and people started showing up.

Let the masses arrive!

At which point I ran to the bathroom. To hide. And pray. And for all the praying that had gone on in the past 6 weeks over this trivia night, all I could pray at that exact moment was, "God, could you please make this fun?? All the planning and people gathering will not be worth much if people come and have a miserable time. Please, please, make it fun."

Now, I know it was for me. And I know I am completely and totally biased. But I really, truly thought it was a very fun night.

Standing at the front of the room, in our t-shirts, preparing for trivia

There was lots of laughing.

Scorekeeping table, having fun and working hard!

And lots of (I think good-natured) frustration as people worked their hardest to get the questions right

And there was some funny game playing

And I even got to hold the mic a few times



There was eating and drinking and all sorts of merriment. There was even a winning team. Who won a golden mailbox of glory.

But the best part of all of it was so many people saying such kind words and supporting us financially and emotionally.

You see, when you've been waiting for an adoption for 2 years and it might be a while still (even though you hope not), you begin to wonder if people still are around. Oh at the beginning, they're there. And they're praying. But two years later? When there's no cute picture or plane tickets to buy yet? When it's just quiet frustration and more updates that cost more money? It's easy to feel alone.

But we didn't feel alone that night. We were filled to the brim with other people's hope for our future family.

We couldn't have done any of this without our friends and community. And this isn't all of them. But it is a good chunk of our small group, who worked tirelessly. They planned, they wrote questions, they picked up pizza. They set up tables. They prayed with us. And for us. And over us. And they stayed til we locked up that night.  

Do you want to know what love looks like? Take a good look.

As we were putting the place back together, the womenfolk started to count the money. And they sent me away, wanting to do a grand total together.  So when I finally stopped moving long enough to celebrate, they handed E and I a bank envelope containing...

Almost $4,000 in profits. You guys. In my wildest dreams. Seriously. I just stood there and I am pretty sure I was so shocked I didn't know what to say.

So, you might notice our thermometer has moved quite a bit in the past two weeks.  That's all of you.  Coming together. Buying t-shirts. Giving donations. Playing trivia. Telling your friends to buy t-shirts and play trivia.

And while I can't write a handwritten thank you to each of you, oh how I wish I could. Because the gratitude in this heart? It overflows. I pray you know how much it means to us to be supported so fully.

And so, with that, we can officially accept a referral any day. The money? It's there. 

The travel money? Not so much yet. But we are sure it will come with time.  People are already asking what fundraising we'll be doing next. And while there will be a "next fundraiser," we are going to breathe and be fully thankful for the provisions we've had thus far for a hot second. I need a little time to recoup. And I am guessing my friends do, too.

I know this post is long but I will answer the final question everyone keep asking: what about that referral?

Well, here's what we know: the new process in Ethiopia (called PAIR) is slowing down the referral process right now as agencies work to meet all the new paperwork requirements. Turns out having every t crossed and i dotted in a developing nation is not exactly easy. So things are slow right now and they don't expect many kiddos to be paperwork-ready in the next few weeks.

This may or may not have any effect on us. After all, we don't really have a good idea of "where we are" in reference to when we'll get the call. Could be soon. Could be later. All depends on what kiddos get clearances and whether or not they fit in our request or someone else's.

But tonight, none of that matters. We're going to sit back and be thankful for a little while.

Thank you for being our people, all of you.  We can't wait to introduce IC to the people who make us so incredibly blessed.

...

(Thanks to Ashley and Meg for the photos)