If you’ve ever met me, one thing that comes across pretty quickly, besides being fastidious, is that when I get involved with something, I’m all in 155%; my hobbies, my faith, my family, my friends and my work. Shortly into 2010, I discovered a new library in town; I consider it my mecca. During the first visit, I checked out nearly thirty books! I thought I would teach myself all the technical tidbits that could take my work to the next level. I wrote up a plan to initiate projects that were once impossibilities and ideas that would catapult the company image. I spent two months studying pages of jargon and taking tedious notes.

It was then that my company took on new leadership. And the order came that I was to do away with the research, notes and plans I had made; work was heading in a different direction. Imagine the crushing heart break I felt to hear all I had put my life on hold for in the last couple months was basically useless, to say the least. And as you can guess, I was very upset; everything I put my mind and efforts toward were suddenly being shut out? I wrestled with God to make things right. By right, I meant, make things go my way. I wish I could tell you those prayers worked to my liking, but things only got worse. What do you do when you’re under leadership that’s going in one direction and you’ve got ideas to take the company in another?

About a month later, God reminded me that those who rebel against the leadership God put in place, are actually rebelling against Him… and rebels only bring judgment on themselves. That is a tough pill to swallow. Basically, it doesn’t matter if I believe in my leader’s direction or not. As long as I work for her, it is my duty to submit to the authority God has placed me under. Ouch– for a month, I’ve totally been in the wrong. That hurts. It’s okay though, because now that I’ve got myself thinking how I can best support my leader’s new direction, I actually feel a burden has been lifted. Thank you God for reminding me of the word and setting me straight. Where I would be without it, I don’t even want to know.

There’s more though because I thought about my reaction to God’s authority in my life and the parallel that exists between how I submit to his leadership in my life and those he has placed over me. I recall being pretty angry in several occasions with God when He’s directed me down a path that wasn’t in my plans. And honestly, its a real issue I still struggle with today. So now I’m thinking about that 155% I put into life and pride myself on. There’s no doubt I learned a lesson here on where i’m spending my time. I heard a quote yesterday that basically sums this up by saying “I used to be afraid of failing at the things that mattered to me, now I’m more afraid of succeeding at the things that don’t matter.” God isn’t impressed with how many books I read and what kind of plans I have, He’s more interested in me giving that 155% to living out His word.

Yesterday I went in to my hairdresser for a trim. It’s been a few weeks since I had my last cut and he was pretty astonished at how long my hair was. I hadn’t even noticed. It’s always funny to me when I go to the salon, the other hairdressers drop their clients to touch my hair. It’s silly… but I have really healthy, soft hair and they like to run their fingers through it. weird? My secret, I don’t wash my hair everyday… sometimes not even every other day… sometimes not for three or four days 😉 But that’s not what I’m here to share. My hairdresser asked to cut off a couple inches. I wanted to know why if it was still healthy? He said, ‘well, because its old hair. The ends have probably been on your head for six or eight years’. woh. six or eight years?! That’s a long time to be carrying around something day in and day out. I gave him permission to snip the ends off… but I couldn’t help but think about what my hair had been through. Alot has happened in the last six to eight years… alot! I was still in Iowa six to eight years ago. I was still working in television six to eight years ago. I was in love with another man six to eight years ago. I was dreaming to become a missionary six to eight years ago. There was a level of innocence I still possessed six to eight years ago. There was also a level of hurt, anger and confusion I was experiencing six to eight years ago. I was dreaming of better days six to eight years ago.

Wow. That hair had been with me during some really important times in my life! The last six to eight years have been life changing. And here I was about to let that go. Every bit of life that my hair had stuck with me through, I was cutting off its life source. That is just incredible to think about. It almost makes me feel fresh, like I’ve started a new life since my trim yesterday. Because the hair I’m carrying around today has probably only been there five years. That is just crazy to think about… the past is gone. What was left of me that was still experiencing those six to eight years have been shed. I’m taking a deep breath in as I think about it. Yesterday’s visit to the salon was more than just a hair trim; it was a letting go of the last bit of past I had left on me from six to eight years ago.

I’m not good with sharing my goals and dreams with people, let me just start with that. Mostly, I just forget. I’m off accomplishing it. This past weekend, I was having coffee with a friend and mentioned my plan for adopting kids in a rambling for future plans. She had no idea and wondered why I never talked about my plans. I guess after sharing with family and my immediate circle, I never really saw a point to telling anyone else. Which I’m not happy about that I would think such a thing because I’ve always been a proponent of people sharing their lives with others. Stories are blessings, why hold that back?

Maybe it was my mom and dad having me in the delivery room at the age of 7 to watch my younger sister be born, maybe it was growing up hearing my dad talk about his experience being put up for adoption at nine years old and what that felt like to have a family say ‘We’ll take him’… and maybe it was all just God placing a burden on my heart, but for whatever reason, I’ve had a yearning to adopt children since I was prepubescent. As the years rolled on several events occured that funneled me down the path toward adoption. I was diagnosed with thyroid disease at 18 and told it would be very difficult to get pregnant. At the age of 24, I was raped by a man I trusted more than anyone in the world, causing me to struggle today with any form of sexual intimacy. Just two years ago, former roommates enlightened me to the statistics of 8-year olds to age 18 who go the rest of their lives without a family because most parents want newborns or young children to adopt.

My heart broke at the thought of these children spending their ‘growth years’ feeling unloved and navigating life without parents to share their experiences with. I have no longing to give birth to my children, I just have a longing to show love and help nurture and grow people through Jesus.

My brain is always setting plans. So I looked at my life goals and what this would look like if I adopted children between ages 8-12. Here’s my thought: I would definitely have some time to accomplish a few more personal goals in the next 10 years without feeling as if I’m not giving enough time to my children, holding myself back or that I’d be limping on the practice fields trying to be a good mom and keep up with young children. Also, I wouldn’t have to worry about pushing 60 before my kids were to leave the nest. Theoretically, I could be 40, adopt kids (8-12 years old) and by 50 they would be out of the house, off to college, just in time for me to finish up a dozen more working years before retirement. That actually sounds pretty great.

I think I’ve mentioned in past posts that my mind and heart have been centered around my future. I’ve been keeping a healthy lifestyle (eating right, working out at the gym, nurturing myself) so that when the time comes that God gives me children, I’ll be more ready than ever. And maybe that time won’t come. In this event, it’s okay. I’ve been absorbing every ounce of time I have with my friend’s babies and children, soaking up their laughter, ‘firsts’, smiles and cries.

Interestingly enough, I’ve always been a magnet for young children. I’m not sure why, but kids love playing with me… probably because I get lost in their world of imaginations with them. So it’s not like I don’t like young children, quite the opposite! Another interesting thing is at the age of 7, after my sister was born, I was introduced to the world of babies, diapers, feeding and such. Four years later, another sister was born. By this time, I had some training. Both sisters slept in my bed with me. I remember waking up in the middle of school nights to a sick sister and having to handle the situation while wiping their tears. I would strip the sheets from the bed and start a load of laundry while drawing a bath at 2am. After new bedding was laid and their bodies were clean, I’d switch the laundry over to the dryer and we were back to sleep until the alarm clock sounded for school. I recall several nights like this. Mom and dad worked and needed their rest.

During the summer months I was ‘mom’. I signed my sister’s up for swimming lessons, teeball practices and library programs. I couldn’t drive yet, so I peddaled around town with one sister strapped into my bike car seat and the other at my side on her little Huffy. I had a routine. I would wake up, make breakfast and then quietly slip back into the bed and wake my sisters up with whispers and kisses. At breakfast I would go over an itinerary I planned for the day, which included all the activities mentioned above, plus arts and crafts that I put together myself and of course some cleaning before mom and dad came home. For arts and crafts, we tried to make candles once and melted a whole box of crayons in the oven on one of mom’s cookie sheets; don’t worry, I had wax paper over the pan. Many times we made bracelets, necklaces, anklets and rings out of thread, fishing line and beads. We also made decorations for the house out of yarn and paper. We had fun. And cleaning, that part was probably most fun. We would play fun music and dance around the house… it was fun helping to grow my sisters. I think God gave me that experience for a reason.

Another thing that is interesting is that for a dozen years, I served as a camp counselor working specifically, year after year with 5th and 6th grade kids. It was an age I was very good at working with. And each year, it never failed, I was served up some of the most challenging situations with this age of children. It became a joke after a while; God put me there in those situations for a reason. Perhaps it will be years before I ever conclude why, but for now I sure do enjoy pondering the purpose behind it.

Had an interesting conundrum on Friday morning and haven’t been able to speak about it until now. I woke up feeling like I got a good night’s rest (probably because it stormed very heavy overnight and I sleep like a baby when the rain and wind is blowing)… prepared myself for the day and reached for my door a few minutes early to make a meeting for work. Except the deadbolt wouldn’t budge. I strongarmed the lock and nothing happened. Wouldn’t you know it, I had felt so good that morning that I hit the gym– even in the hurricane weather we were having– and decided to leave my phones in the car since I was just running in the house to change my clothes and cleanup a bit before work. So here I was, locked essentially, in my own home. No way to contact a soul. I don’t have Internet in my house, I live on the second story so I couldn’t climb out and this was the only way out. I pleaded with the door… it wasn’t giving up. So I opened a window and tried to call out to someone… it was blowing so hard and pouring rain so heavily (literally, we were in the midst of hurricane weather)… no one could hear my cries– by this time, I really was crying– I’m a claustrophobe in a big way. I went back to the door and started banging on it and throwing my whole body weight into the door… nothing. Imagine what that felt like. Every attempt was worthless. Then an idea came to mind as a tarnished brass screw holding that deadbolt in place gave me little glisten. I swung open the cabinet doors under the sink and reached for the toolbag.. and I think at this point had the deadbolt been able to see what was happening, it would have been trembling itself loose. But it didn’t. So I grabbed the philips screwdriver and started to twist away. As I loosened the bolts, I had little care for where they ended up and let everyone of them hit the ground and bounce around. I had little thought about putting the pieces back together, I just wanted out… NOW! Once the bolts were out, the inside plate of the deadbolt fell off and I was faced with another dilemma. The locking mechanism for the deadbolt was wedged in the door good. I took a hammer and praying for good aim, I swung at the lock inside. Nothing happened… so I swung again, and again and again. Even thought the deadbolt wasn’t moving much, I earned a very high score in marksmanship!– it helped that I have a background in building things. Seeing that my efforts weren’t getting far, I took the screwdriver back out and plucked around on the inside of that lock trying to jiggle something loose… then I just resorted to stabbing the lock out of the hole… with everything I had in me, I bludgeoned the deadbolt until it finally gave way and fell out… it was a very weak ending for the lock, but for me I swung that door wide open in triumph! 45 minutes later. I stared at the mess. And at that point, I didn’t care if my door ever got locked again. But the reality was that I did care a little about coming home to an empty house. So for the sake of my belongings (not the door though), I carefully propped the deadbolt face plate back up into the empty hole and walked away a free woman.

Today, the dismantled lock is restored to its original position, by the way… well, kind of. The inside knob that I turn to lock the door is very loose and falls out everytime I reach for it… but when tightened, won’t accept my key on the other side. I’d rather deal with a loose knob than a lock that won’t budge, so there.

Earlier this week a friend shared with me about his efforts to woo a woman. It was quite thoughtful and well planned, especially coming from a 57-year old man. So when I heard friends of mine were traveling many miles to visit for an evening, I thought about how I too could put together a well thought out plan to show my love for my friends. The wife just received a clean report from the doctor on her cancer, the husband relieved and wanting to take time in each other’s company to see the countryside. They were new to my neck of the woods, so I wanted to show them a piece of my everyday paradise. I looked into the weather for the day and timed out a trip to a nearby island. As we crossed a mile long bridge to get there, the sun was setting over the glistening water. Talk about marvelous. It was so beautiful to see white trails following the boats and sparkling water under a clear sky. We drove to a remote white sand beach with clear blue water spreading out as far as the eye could see. We were staring out into the gulf with sea gulls flying overhead as the sand squished beneath us. The sun was still drifting into the west as we watched the waves roll in under an orange sky and soon night was falling. We traveled to a popular restaurant on the island and my friends took in Florida’s ‘traditional fishy’ food. After dinner we crossed the bridge back to the mainland. I had originally timed out that we would catch fireworks on display over the water from a downtown celebration, but after closing the restaurant down with our late night conversation, the sky was pure black with sparkling stars overhead and a bright moon lighting up outlined waves. It was a memorable night and I actually felt good about really planning out how I could show my love instead of just letting the cards fall into place (like I usually do) and afterward wishing I would have done this and this and this and that.

It’s been a while since i’ve been able to take a breath and share my life. I asked my work to send me overseas on a project in November… it ended up taking me til now to get caught up on everything else. I did get a 2-week trip home to see family and friends over Christmas, but even then I shared a portion of my time on work. I am happy to say I am not here to talk about that.

I’ve learned over these last few months how to stress myself into unbearable pain. So in the midst of it, I have tried to focus on simple things in life that can nourish my soul, mind and body. I’ve been spending my weekends at the library for hours reading biographies and historic events and my weekdays at the gym lifting and listening to audiobooks and messages of hope. I’ve turned my office into a serene escape with waterfalls and the sounds of nature and my evenings with bubble baths, soft bath towels and warmed pajamas straight out of the dryer. My nutrition is filled with lots of healthy protein and vegetables… and snacks of fruit. I’ve filled mornings with massages and days with good conversations reconnecting with friends. Its the simplist of actions that have started to restore my soul.