If God is in the Details...

One of my Most Valuable Friends often posts about where she sees God.  They are, by far, some of my favorite posts ever.

This was her post last night.

LeighAnne is one of my steady friends.  I lean on her for strength and logic (she has tremendous amounts of both), but I must admit that I also lean on her for her faith.  LeighAnne is what I would lovingly call "my kind of Christian".  Imperfect, and fully aware of it, I never feel her judgment or her push.  When I confess my own misgivings or questions, I know she understands.

I have never been very religious.  I was not raised in the church, and I am not particularly ever comfortable there.  I am not always even sure what I believe or how vigorously I believe it on any given day, but I think that any God who doesn't accept my questions is probably not the God for me.  I have lots of questions.

As a good Southern girl, I can talk the church talk enough to get through a Sunday service.  I know my way around a covered dish supper.  I reflect.  I pray.  I talk.  Sometimes I feel Someone talking back.  I put my best energy out into the world.  I am a faithful person.  I am loyal almost to a fault.  I am generous, loving, and (mostly) forgiving.  I try to find the good in everything and everyone.  But I can be skeptical.  I can be stubborn.  And, yes, I can be angry and impatient.  Typically, just as I begin to feel more even-footed with my own beliefs, an obstacle will often appear.  From what my friends-in-the-know tell me, this is the way He likes to work.  In the past few years, there seems to have been far more days jumping hurdles than walking the path of peace, and I found that my faith in finding the good feels like more of a struggle.

Luckily, I have incredible friends, valuable friends, who help me look.  If God is in the details, I'd assume it's easy to find Him in a sunrise or a flower bloom or the pages of a sermon.  But I imagine you'd have to look pretty closely to find Him in a noisy, crowded junior high cafeteria on an ordinary Tuesday morning.

As I shook that young man's hand and introduced myself to him today after school, I was awfully glad she did.

The Greatest Thing...

I saw this video this morning, and I knew that I just didn't have any better words than this.  

"What's the greatest thing?"

"Love."

This Face...

I've been pretty down lately. Morose. Gloomy. Downtrodden. Plain ol' run-of-the-mill sad. 

I've been angry. I've been doubtful. I've been questioning.

But tomorrow, I will refuse to be any of those things. This is my pledge. Because on February 24th, I plan to think only of something amazing -- the birth of one of the sweetest pieces of joy I've ever seen. 

It's this guy. 

Sam and Rachel at Halloween.
"I pity the fool who doesn't think I'm cute!"

This is Sam. This little dude beat some incredible odds and defied almost every medical expert's opinions just to make it into this world. Born at just 30 weeks, with little to no amniotic fluid to support him for more than half of the pregnancy and 4 months of bedrest for his mom, Sam made his appearance after what I can only guess must have been the most exciting episode of American Idol ever.

When I think of hope, I see his face. When I think of faith, I see his dad's face. When I think of strength, I see his mom's face.

I am ever grateful for those three faces. They fill my heart.

A few years ago, something told me that my school friend, Chris, and my camp friend, Rachel, should meet. I had known them both for years and never thought this thought even once. But as I was talking to Chris in the hallway one day, Rachel's face flashed in my mind. I had never before set anyone up on a date, but I wondered if maybe they might like one another. Just about a year and a half later, they were married. I would jokingly tell people that it must've been God whispering in my ear. Jokingly, because I had never (knowingly) felt God tell me anything before.

Yet when I look at that face, it's hard to think that it was a joke. When I look at that face, I listen closely for the universe's plan. Because when I look at that face, God doesn't whisper. He shouts.

And what a joyful noise it is.

Happy 1st Birthday, Sam Drury. Your presence is the greatest gift of all.

A Day in Court

I cried in court today.

In all my days, the thought of finding myself in a courtroom with an actual judge -- in actual black robes with an actual gavel -- would make my knees quiver.  Today, it was only my lip quivering.  I wasn't sure what to do... where to stand... what to do with my hands.  So instead, I walked up the stairs behind the judge's bench and stood behind her to take a picture.

In the picture?  My friend, Heather, and her son. 

He pressed his face against her neck, wary of the judge on her bench and weary of all of the cameras and tears.  She stood, facing a lawyer, who asked her a zillion rapid fire questions that basically boiled down to one:

"Do you choose this child forever?"

And she said yes.

So just like that, after 8 months -- ironically almost the length of a pregnancy itself -- the labor was over.  The home visits.  The paper work.  The anxiety.  The fear.  All done.

And, in the blink of an eye, the story of Marcus James Wilson, looking especially dapper in his new hat and surrounded by family and friends, officially began.

And we all said, "YES!"

The Tiniest Glimpse...

Yesterday was kind of one long, crazy, what-the-hell-just-happened kind of day.

Lots of things made me happy, but some things made me terribly sad.

And a couple of things made me downright, mother-effing, rage-a-riffic.

In investigating one of the terribly sad, rage-a-riffic items on the "never dealt with that before" list, I found myself shutting up for once, sitting back, and watching my dear friend work his magic on this kid.  This wondrous little boy with a lifetime of worry already on his seven year-old shoulders.  It was just the smallest of things... a smile, a brush of the hair, a pat on the back, a silly expression, a tenderness not usually shown... but it was just the tiniest glimpse.  A glimpse of where this friend's been.  A glimpse of what he'll be one day.

And all the rage was gone.  Gone in the tiniest glimpse.

Taking the Greeting Card Industry by Storm

I've been to two adoption showers in one week.

Two.

How cool is that?

Two different kids have walked/are going to walk into their forever homes this week.

Beyond cool. Amazing. Incredible. There are really no good words for it.

Guess what? There are really no good cards for it either.

I decided this in the middle of Target, whereupon I had an illogical fit of anger against the greeting card industry. Like a "mutter under your breath about the unfairness of it all" kind of tirade. An "I'm gonna write my congressman except that it's not a congressional issue" kind of seething. It was not pretty.

So, I made my own for my dear friend, Heather. I kinda liked it, so I made another one for her new son, Marcus. They made my "non-crier" friends well up as if they were... well, as if they were me -- the crybaby. I think that's a total "in yo' face, Hallmark". Anyway, here are some pics I took of the cards. They took a while to make, so I wanted to have some proof of my work.



I employ collage poetry in much of my crafting attempts. I think it's so interesting and quite a challenge. It took 5 old magazines and about 15 minutes of thumbing through and cutting out. But about 90 minutes of arranging and re-arranging. I love the revision process. It's like looking at a painting from far away. Or with one eye closed. Or while standing on your head. Every arrangement of words speaks a new language.

Anyway, I love making cards, but I'd have to charge hundreds of dollars for each one just to cover my magazine and glue stick supply.



This is the card for Marcus. I don't know if you can really see it clearly, but the whole idea of it was that I came across the word "spinach" in a magazine. As Heather is a vegetarian and loovvvesss spinach (and most 4 year-olds are not quite as big of fans), I thought I'd make him a card to warn him that although she loves the spinach and will try to feed it to him relentlessly, she's still going to be the greatest mom ever.

The smiling dog on the back of the card was just because. Well... and because it was about 2 AM at that point, and I was feeling a little punchy.

Here's the other highlight of the shower. Our friend, Toni the Baby Hog, met Baby Brooklyn for the first time. I don't know that they liked each other much. Can you tell?



And after the shower? Heather jumped in the car to go meet her son. Her. Son. She emailed us about an hour ago. There were pictures. And bubbles. And a plea to get in the car to go "home". Like to his forever home.

And there were smiles. Oh dear, were there ever smiles. Smiles bigger than any I've ever seen in 15 years of friendship. They simply stole my breath away.

Do your friends steal your breath away? On a weekly basis? Or is that just how lucky I am?

No?

You should get new friends.

And make them a card. They really love homemade cards.

When the Bubble Bursts...

Here's what I know for sure:

There will never be anyone on Earth who will be as hard on me as I am on myself. It's been a lifelong battle, and we're in about the 35th round.

I've come a long way over the years, but there are still days when the self-hating creeps out of the shadows and clocks me with a sucker punch. Today was one of those days. It wasn't an especially awful day; surely I've had worse. But I was sick, and when I'm sick, I'm especially weak-willed with a low emotional melting point. One thing fell apart and took me with it.

*sigh*

I came home. I pouted for a while. I thought about things. I let today go.

Because here's what I also know for sure: I am loved. I am respected. I am strong. These are the thoughts I pour into myself when I feel low. And if that doesn't work, I go through my phone. On my phone are some pictures and videos of the people I love most. Those people bring me my smile.

I got stuck on this:

I wish every (perceived) failure in my life went as easily as my friend, Ell, and his bubbles. Dip the wand. Blow into the wand. Don't see any bubbles? "Nope".

There's just this feeling that this one little word, this "Nope", is all you need. It's not a "Why can't things just work out?". Or a "I totally suck at this, so I'm just going to give up." It's more like a "Well, that fell apart, but there's always a chance that the next bubble will work" kinda attitude. It's a completely awesome, life-affirming little "Nope".

I love that. I need that.

For the record, after about 20 minutes, 200 attempts, and half a bottle of soap spilled on my legs, Elliott totally blew the most perfect 3 bubbles.

And if you think that "Nope" is life-affirming, you should hear the squeals that surround success. If only I'd kept that camera running...

Date Night

This is the son of one of my best friends, Courtney. His name is Elliott. He is almost 2, and he was my Saturday afternoon date. He (and his mom) called me up today to ask me over. The voicemail said, "Hi, Deana (her)." And then, "Hi, Neena! (him)". Not many things can force me to cut a Saturday afternoon nap in half, but this did.

No child's voice since my nephew was small has melted my heart any faster. And it has been 16 years since my nephew was this age. Even now, I can still feel his tiny hand in mine, his chubby arms around my neck, see his big blue eyes twinkling, as he yelled to me to "Chase me, DEEE-NNNUHHH!" But I was 18 then, young and dumb, and I didn't realize how quickly those days would pass. I thought that in just a few years, there would be another tiny hand in mine, but this one would be in my hand forever. But things don't always work out like you plan.

I think this is why Ell is so important to me now. Because someday, I realize now, he will be tall and strong, and his hand will no longer fit in mine and Saturday afternoon trips down the slide will be ancient history.

Over the Christmas break, Court and her husband caught Elliott calling two other blonde-haired ladies "Neena". One might be hurt that her name had been associated with the wrong person, but not me. For me, it simply signaled that I had a place somewhere in that two-year old brain, and I'm sure as hell not gonna let my place get taken over anytime soon.

It is a wondrous thing, the voice of a child. Even more so when it's calling your name.

P.S. I truly believe that if everyone in the world simply yelled out a "WHEEE!" before they took on any task, the world would be a much more content place. Try it.