**First Christmas Time**

When first coming across Christmas decorations being put up in Target:

Me:  Oh, Avé!  Do you know what these are?????
Avé:  (unimpressed) Yes Mommy.  They are trees.

While looking at a large selection of stockings in a store:
Me:  Oh, Avé!  We need to buy you a stocking!  Which one of these do you like?
Avé:  Mommy.  These are all WAAAAAAAY too big for me.


It's been super fun going through this season with her!  Here are a few highlights in pictures...

We saw The Nutcracker!

With Auntie Kelly and Annie!

And she talked through the whole thing!  ;-)

We saw Santa!
And I bribed the boys to be in this pic!
I'm totally not joking.
(bribed, threatened... toMAYto ,toMAHto.)

And maybe sweetest of all, she DANCED in our church Christmas production!  I thought I wouldn't cry b/c I had watched all the rehearsals... but of course I did.  I just saw this precious little girl on stage dancing and thought of where she was last year at this time and just, well, just.... well, you can imagine.

I mean... really.... 

Love.  Just love.

Merry Christmas everyone!  More to come soon...

Just for Fun

Worth the watch just for the last 5 seconds.

Worth the watch just to see a brother being so sweet about his sister.

Oh, Night Divine. Or just regular. Or pretty crappy, depending on your level of involvement.

"Oh, Holy Night
The stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth..."


"Silent night, holy night..." 



Well... it was and it wasn't.

Holy- yes.  God was executing His great rescue plan for humanity.  Showing us His great love by sending His Son to earth to live as one of us.  Holy, and divine and sacred.

And also pretty regular.  Except for some shepherds near Bethlehem who had this completely surreal experience that they MUST have been doubting was even real just a few hours after it was over; unless you were them it was just another night.  I mean, if you were living anywhere else- in a Mayan village or China or even up the road in Jerusalem, that night was nothing big at all.  Just a night.

But I bet it was actually pretty crappy for those actually involved in the story- the ones we sing about in those songs where we call the night "silent" and "holy" and "divine."  I've given birth.  It's pretty gross.  And it hurts.  A LOT.  And it turns out giving birth for the first time is pretty terrifying even with epidurals and episiotomies and c-sections and doctors and nurses galore.   Imagine being in a barn.  Alone.  No mid-wife to help.  And barns are filthy and smelly and uncomfortable and WRONG for having a baby.  Just wrong.  I imagine young Mary thinking, "Surely this isn't how it was supposed to be."

And that's also me.  Right now.  In a deeply important part of my life.  Looking around me and thinking "This is wrong.  Surely this isn't how it's supposed to be."  I'm lonely and afraid and terrified of how dead I feel inside but also terrified of waking up again because to wake up means to HOPE.  And when you hope you make yourself vulnerable to pain.  And disappointment.  And crushing, heart-breaking realities.  And so it feels easier to just stay asleep.

But when I'm asleep, I'm not ME.

And God created each of us to BE US.

I'm not a good mom when I'm not me.  No- I'm probably good.  I'm probably okay.  But I'm not GAYLA.  I'm not Gayla-as-a-mom if I'm asleep inside.  Nor am I Gayla-as-a-friend, Gayla-as-a-wife, Gayla-as-a-person even.  I may be saving myself some pain (or at least I tell myself that's what I'm doing), when in reality I'm just delaying it.  Or worse- exacerbating it by letting it pile up un-dealt with.

The past several Christmases I always seem to struggle with feeling like there is something I am missing.  In my younger days- not just childhood, but far into my 20's- I used to be able to tap in to the Spirit.  The feeling you are "supposed" to have at this time of year.  I could ponder the miracle and the gift of the season and be filled with wonder and aching beauty.  I felt an aching longing then too, but I had HOPE.  Hope that one day this ache would actually be replaced with fulfillment.  But instead of fulfillment I have received disappointment.  And as Proverbs says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick."  Today, right now, I am heart-sick.  Maybe even soul-sick.  And I'm tired of hoping.

But today I also chose to lean into those around me who continue to hope FOR me.  I lean into my friends when my heart and soul are too sick and sad to hold my own arms up anymore and I borrow their strength.

And... I am comforted by the thought that THAT holy, divine night may have felt a lot like THIS sad, lonely night.  And that does not make it any less holy.  Any less divine.

In fact, maybe THIS is what holy really feels like.

The Second Podcast!

Episode #2: "Happy Holidays from the Moms" is up both on iTunes and on our Podbean account!

Tune in to hear my friends try to shut me down when I suggest that a local Bible college turn off their exorbitant amount of Christmas lights for one night and donate the money saved in electricity to dig wells in Africa!  




(do ya get the feeling these girls have heard me say it all before???)  ;-)

Referral-aversary!

(stole that title from Lindsey!!!)

ONE YEAR...

One year ago today I went to work.

One year ago today my phone rang and I didn't answer it.

One year ago Mick and I rushed home to see the sweetest, saddest face ever.

One year ago.

Amazing...

What a difference a YEAR makes...

PS- I just showed Avé those pix of her that we saw last year and I asked her if she knew why she was so sad.  She said, "Yes, because me no have a family."  Seriously.  That was her answer.  No prompting from me.  For real.  

Blown away...

Gratitude

Well, I've done it.  I've accomplished the goal of blogging every day for a month and can officially call myself a NaBloPoMo member!  (are there members?)  And you know what?  I really enjoyed it!  It MADE me sit down and write about some things that I have been putting off for a very long time.  It made me think through some topics I thought I wasn't ready to write about- but when I started writing I found out that either I was ready, or that I would never be ready and so I may as well put it out there as-is.

The last thing I want to write about this month is Gratitude.  I want to live a life that is full of thanksgiving.  Mind you- absolutely nothing in my life is exactly the way I want it to be.  Nothing. My dream life is 100% full of meaningful conversations with my spouse and tidbits of wisdom passed on to my eager children who eat delicious meals made by me with all organic ingredients before we make time to read the Bible and a deep, meaningful chapter book before bed.  My REAL life is 100% full of days when my husband and I hardly have time to speak to each other and my children ignore every single word that comes out of my mouth and we have cereal for dinner and I tell them I'm too tired to read to them before bed.  But STILL... I have SO MUCH to be thankful for.  And I truly want my children to appreciate all that they have too.

In the adoption world there are always people talking about how we can't expect adopted kids to feel grateful for their adoption.  And they are RIGHT.  I mean, that's a bit like saying that kids whose parents have gone through a painful divorce should be thankful for it because each parent has remarried.  Maybe they can really, really love their new step-parents, but that doesn't mean that they have to be grateful for the divorce that brought them all together.  So I'm not writing this to say that Avé has to be grateful that she has us for a family.  But I AM saying that I want my children- ALL of them- bio or adopted- to be grateful for their lives.

We have so much given to us in this country.  So much that we don't even NEED but think that we do.  And somehow I have a sneaking suspicion that on the day we stand before God He is going to ask us about our gluttonous lives and why we continued to live in such a selfish manner when we knew that others' suffering could be eased if we would would give more away instead of accumulating more "things" for ourselves.

Nothing makes me crazier as a mom than ungratefulness in my children.  I mean- if you really wanna see me just go bananas, come over some day when my kids have been able to stay late after school to play soccer, had a friend over for a play date, then went someplace fun for dinner... and THEN complained b/c they didn't get to go out for dessert afterward!  I seriously go berzerk.  One day we were leaving Sonic's "happy hour" with slushies in their little hands when we happened to drive past a Braum's and one of my kids said in a really sad and pathetic voice, "We haven't been to Braum's in like, forever."  My other kids chimed in, equally sad and pathetic.  I whipped the car into a parking lot, demanded their slushies and tossed them into the nearest trash can.  I mean, AAAAAUUUUUUUGH!!!!  Can you say SPOILED????  That just infuriates me!!!

And then comes the part that I always regret later- the lecture.  I JUST CAN'T STOP MYSELF!!!  Really!!!  I just start going off and off and off and off and even though there is a part of my brain that says, "Simmer down, G!  They tuned out like, 5 minutes ago!" I just can't stop until I have said all I have to say!  And by the end I'm usually crying.  It goes something like this:

""We haven't been to Braums...???  WE HAVEN'T BEEN TO BRAUMS???"  What, exactly, is that in your hands???  And yet you are complaining because WE HAVEN'T BEEN TO BRAUMS????  Oh, no.  Oh, no, my friends.  (dramatic pull over into nearest parking lot)  Give me those drinks.  (dramatic toss into the trash can) If you can't be grateful for what you have, then you don't deserve what you have!!!!  Do you think every child in the world gets to swing by Sonic after school?  Don't you realize that there are kids in this world who not only don't get to drink Blue Coconut Slushies, but they have to hike for 1/2 a day to get water to drink?  And then when they get it, that water is dirty and filled with things that will make them sick???  There are kids who can't even have the PRIVILEGE of going to school because they have to hike back and forth every day to get their family DIRTY WATER to drink and bathe in and cook with... and yet MY CHILDREN, who are holding slushies in their hands are sad because they haven't gotten ice cream???  Oh, that is just ridiculous.  Don't you remember when we saw that village in Africa on TV where the only toy in the whole village was a long sleeved shirt rolled up to use as a soccer ball???  And don't you remember the children begging on the streets and living in the dump in Ethiopia???  And yet you feel sorry for yourselves because you got slushies instead of ice cream..."

To be fair, I *ALWAYS* apologize to my kids later for acting so nutso.  But I also make it very clear that that a crazy, raving fit is very likely to happen every time they act so ungrateful for all they have.  That is just who I am and they need to realize that if they want to see their mother go berzerk-o, acting ungrateful is the best way to do it.  One morning I threw a pair of socks at Jack's head when he told me that the reason we were ready to leave and he didn't have his shoes and socks on is because he "didn't like any of his socks."  AAAAUGH!!!  Berzerk-o time!!!!  (again... I apologized later and told him he had full permission to mock me for the day I threw socks at his head.  ;)

But the really pathetic thing?

I do the same thing.

All.
The.
Time.

And maybe that's why I react so strongly when my kids do it.  I hate it in myself.  I hate going to the mall because it makes me feel like all my clothes are stupid.  I hate watching TV because it makes me feel like I need more money to spend on my hair and my shoes and my make-up.  I hate reading fashion magazines because the ads all make me feel fat.  I hate it when I do get something new and somewhere in my heart it makes me feel just a little bit superior.  I HATE that.  I hate that I fall prey to all those marketing tricks that tell me that if I just had this product it would change my whole life.  I love my country, but I hate those things about our materialistic culture.

Because being unsatisfied means being ungrateful.

My life is far from perfect.  But I want to be grateful for every broken, messed up, heart-breaking, imperfect piece of it.  And if I want grateful children, well, they are only going to learn that one way: by example.  My lectures and dramatics may make an impact for a short period of time, but really I think they will only teach my kids not to be ungrateful OUT LOUD.  On the inside they will feel the same way.  Unless I can show them another way to live.

God, help me.  Because really- I have every single thing I need.

And then some.

And I wanna be grateful.

Her Lifebook - Her Story

-Mommy, read me a book!
--Okay.  Which book do you want to read?
-Read my Avé Story!
--You want to read your Lifebook?
-Yes!  Read about me!

And so we read her story.  Again.  Again and again and again.

"After the rainy season ends in southern Ethiopia a very special time begins.  Spring-like weather makes everything start to grow!  Flowers are blooming everywhere.  Trees are putting on their best leaves.  The farmers are planting their crops.  It’s a beautiful time in a beautiful country.  And after the rainy season ended in 2006 something else beautiful happened.  In the area called the Sidama Zone, in a village called Luta Bongodo, a very beautiful baby was born.  Her family thought she was so beautiful that they decided to name her “Flower!”  And that baby was YOU!  Abeba Lilah Gower!  The word for flower in Amharic is “Abeba.”  And so that’s what your name means.  “Beautiful Flower.”  *  **
*A few details have been changed or deleted for privacy.
** And if you read something up there that you know is incorrect, please let me know!!!  I'm just using info I've gathered and cobbled together from many sources.  I want it to be correct, so correct me if I have been misinformed!

I can't remember specifically who introduced me to the concept of adoption lifebooks, but I'm forever grateful.  For those not in the know- a Lifebook tells the adoptees story- as much as you know of it- from birth to the time he/she came  to be your son or daughter.  Every teeny-tiny piece of information is important to the adoptee.  After all, their life doesn't begin at the moment they join our families.  For my daughter, she had 2 years and 9 months with her first family and then 8 more months in an orphanage before she came home with us.  That's a lot of living and a lot of information she's going to wonder about someday!

We are fortunate to know some great details about her life in both of those circumstances.  I'm sure these details are going to mean so much to her.  And we are fortunate to have some great pix from the area where she was born.  (Thanks again, Heidi!)  But truthfully?  It was very challenging to write.  

It was challenging because my daughter's story is hard.  And sad.  And because although we know some things, other details will forever be a mystery.

The unofficial (or maybe official?) Lifebook guru is Beth O'Malley.  She has a website and a "how-to" book on the subject.  One thing she stresses is not to sanitize the story.  Not to leave out hard truths or difficult facts.  Because, well, because they are facts.  And to hold back information is just unfair and ultimately unkind.  But she does give you great suggestions for language to use at each stage and in many different circumstances.  I found all of the information she offered very helpful while I was writing Avé's lifebook.  

I was motivated to start writing her story after an interesting event last summer.  My boys were talking about when they were in my tummy (I honestly can't remember why this had come up... seems very random, but that's kids) and Avé said, "Tell me about when *I* was in your tummy!"  I simply told her that she didn't grow inside my tummy- that she had grown inside the tummy of her first mommy- Mama Meselesh.  She asked why, and since I wasn't prepared to give her the birds-and-the-bees conversation I just said something lame about that's how babies are born- from the tummies of their first mommies.  She had a lot more questions about how she was born and I knew that was just one reason I needed to get her lifebook written- so that I could tell her her whole story.  Or as much as we know of it.  

Right now I just have a rough copy printed out from my computer, but she loves it!  We read it all the time.  And when she is grieving it is the first thing we turn to.  It reminds her of who she is and where she has come from.  It connects her to her roots and to people and places I don't want her to forget.  It reminds her that her first family loved her so very much... and that her second family does too.  And above ALL it tells her that God loves her and has been watching out for and protecting her through all of her story.  And that He has big plans for her life.  And that while God didn't orchestrate the parts of her story that are sad or painful, He was there with her through that time and was always, always, always holding her so close and loving her more than she can even imagine.  More than her first and second families combined.