Today I was nearly arrested. 

It's sort of actually almost true - I mean, my heart was racing, my face was red, I was shaky and shamed and I was a little sweaty and faint, which is what I imagine I'd feel if I actually did get arrested - which I never have been - which is actually really really true all the way. 

When I started thinking about having to go back to work, one of the biggest issues was childcare.  I don't live where a school bus serves my youngest's school so I have to carpool her to and from everyday.  This limits the hours that I am available to work.  Throw in a baby whose daycare is 20 minutes out of the way, and my available hours are even that much more limited.  It wasn't easy at all to "just figure it out when we need to" and I felt like I was walking around with my arms outstretched and my hands open waiting for people to rescue me and my kids from this childcare pit of despair.  While I am excruciatingly thankful to those who did step in and drive my kids around, feed them dinner, and take them places, it was almost a full time job just securing a sitter on a regular basis.

When I ask my clients in my classes how much childcare is, the response is staggering.  $400 or more, per week, for infants up to 15 months old is standard in the central MA area.  More is common, and less is rare.  Family Childcare, or a "Home Daycare" is half that, but still gag inducing at $200 a week.  I'm not going to get into a debate about home daycare vs center based care, but I do want to know this: What Happened To Us?

When I realized how expensive child care is, I thought that since I was home in the mornings anyway for my kiddo, I could offer some before school care to any of the neighborhood kids who would typically walk to the elementary school with the other throngs of children every day.  I had one phone call and was questioned in detail about my rates (i dunno, what does the school based program charge? do they serve breakfast? when do they open?) my contract (i dunno, if your kid is here, you can pay me. If your kid isn't here, you don't have to. Any questions?) my deposit (huh? well, bottles are .05 cents so... um...) the amount of other kids I cared for (hmm, do I count my husband or not? does my 10 year old count? she dresses herself...) and then today I got "the call".  The Official "We" had been notified about my "business" and I was informed that I was providing "Illegal Unliscensed Family Childcare Services" and that I should cease and desist.  See? Almost Arrested!!! 


I wasn't just scared, I was angry.  What ever happened to Community? To "Us"?  Why can't I watch my neighbors kids, my friends kids, a person in need at my church, without having to be a liscenced entity?  I read up on the state regulations and actually I don't think I HAVE to be liscenced if I am an informal cooperative care thingamajig.  That's what I had intended - and though the money would've helped, and gone towards groceries or soccer or Karate, I certainly wasn't out to make a living at childcare and to offer a curriculum and a schedule and a sick policy - I just wanted to say, Hey, Here is My Free Time, Can You Use It?  I guess that's illegal now.

I had a conversation recently with another mom about how sad it was that we had to pay so much money for USED clothes at a consignment shop, and that we couldn't even sell back our clothes to the shop but had to 'consign' them and hope for the best.  It really was a much better feeling and so much more worth it to just give things to someone.  Who has time for all that consignment hassle?  I even tried out ebay - thinking I could recoup a little cost on some of my kids' quality stuff.  Nah, that bombed too.  I paid money to advertise stuff that didn't sell.  Thats fair, no?  And though the post office was kind enough to hand deliver free boxes for shipping, I still had to pay for and print out my own labels, tape up the boxes with packing tape, and then arrange for delivery.  I put close to 5 hours of time into getting a few things 'listed'... and I was charged for it.  mmm. Yep.

So my church is doing it different.  We are a community.  A community of servers and givers and helpers.  A community of illegals I guess.  We have a site to join so you can 'help' or 'serve' whenever someone is in need.  We list local financial resources and announce needs and also the awesomeness of seeing needs fulfilled.  Now we are going to list the stuff we have, the stuff we want to give away, the stuff we have that God blessed us with that we no longer need and want to bless someone else with.  We will give away to charity whatever our own members don't want/can't use, but in the meantime, we will share with each other. 

Her son will sit in my daughters stroller.  That girl gave my daughter a raincoat.  That lady helped me get a crib for my child... AND so her child would have a place to sleep at my house.  She cooked a meal for them, and they cooked a meal for those people, and those people cared for someone elses yard, and the yard-owner babysat for the neighbor who was letting her friends child sleep in her childs crib. Here is where "us" is - in Holden, at FC.  If you need "us", we are there, waiting for you.  Just like God - right there in front of you and happy to see you.

Is your "us" up and running?  Move it, shake it, keep it live.  Make "us" a reality.

        

I've been struggling with parenting ever since my daughter was born almost 19 years ago.  Struggling to find the balance between instruction and leadership, guidance and direction, love and ...well, love.  I've only ever done the best I could - and I swear I read every possible parenting book from a 1940's Better Homes Child Rearing Guide to Dobson to some funky do-wrag wearing spiritual expert... uh huh, it's true. 

When my next two children were born, some 6 and 8 years later I was less into all the parenting books, having spent some 6 years actually parenting and figuring out a few things.  I still occasionally perused the different styles of "never say no and squash your childs natural self esteem" to "spare the rod and spoil the child" and the inbetween stuff too.  I watched my peers closely and tried to imitate that which seemed practical and loving, but never forgetting my rightful place as parent, guide, and my responsibility to God to raise His children.  But my children all quickly led me into books like, "The Angry Child" and "What You Eat is What You Are" and "Whole Food for Whole Minds" and "The Ritalin Revolution" (most of those are ficticious books I'm just making up based on my poor sleep deprived mommy brain).  One child had me reading books on "How The Brain Works" and "The Quirky Child" and "When Your Child Struggles".   That's a lot of reading for a mom with three kids!

One particular child of mine and I struggle in our relationship.  It may be because we are more alike than we are different, and because when I see my own negative traits I try to remold them into something more attractive, or I overreact to it in utter panic, or anger.  Lately our relationship, tho' always a struggle it's been very very positive up til now,  went on a downhill spiral.  It started toward the end of the last school year but I credited it to a variety of things unrelated to our direct relationship, instead blaming our declining relationship on the other things.  Can you already see the denial, stubborn defiance, and disobedience to God that is being formed here?

I was thinking about the passage in Colossians 3:20-21 about parenting. 

20  Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.  21  Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged.

For a long time I was focused on verse 20 - and used it rather self righteously, spouting it out verbally whenever it seemed appropriate.  *!=* (this is me whacking myself in the forehead with my fist)  But suddenly I began to focus on verse 21.  "Fathers? Mothers? Guardians - do not use words and actions to make your children bitter against you and against your God, your values, your morals, For they will turn their backs upon it all as too hard, too discouraging, not worthwhile or beneficial" (all my own words...)  And I began to think about the trouble I've been having with my one child.  My Problem.  The Problem that I have.  And how that Problem makes me act, drives my responses, and leaves me guilt ridden, angry, defeated, and full of sorrow. It leaves my child frustrated, angry, hurt, rebellious.  And I felt not so much bad, as just determined to fix this damned thing.

My husband had recently remarked, after listening to me cry about this issue, that he thought my child was needing some mom time.  I reflected back on my recent job experience and how my kids got left alone, for their first time ever, for hours at a time, and how I would say goodbye in the afternoon and then not actually see them again until the next day.  I thought about those missed TV time snuggles, the goofy tickle fests, the quiet and deep moments of chatting at bedtime, and all the things that had slipped away lately. 

Today I sent my child to do a chore.  One I knew wasn't difficult but a little time consuming and I offered a few suggestions on how to pass the time.  Said child was slightly disgruntled by went about the chore obediently.  I went down to rotate through a load of laundry and my mind was full of initial irritation at my childs expressed attitude, the anticipation of a job done with very little effort, and the discouragement of trying to decide in advance how far I wanted to push the issue.  Suddenly I decided to join my child in the chore.  My emails could wait.  The dishes could wait.  I could blog later, I could sort out files and paperwork later.  I could do the chore now.  And I did.

At first my childs reaction was, "What? I'm not doing a good enough job? What, you don't trust me?" in an attitude of what was probably truly just discouragement and hurt.  When I explained that I just wanted to spend time together and that I thought we could just do it together, the smiling started.  And then commenced the chatting... and the sharing and the reconnecting and the power of teamwork and joint effort and some mild and fun competition.  We shared music and I was able to ask for lyrics to some songs, we shared laughter about some of the mystery stains on the seats and carpets, and we counted all the loose change and speculated the worth of dismantling the shopvac to see how much coin we could extract from it's innermost being.  Then we cleaned up together.  Seeing me picking up garbage, and getting down and dirty was enough motivation to encourage beloved child to do the same.  We had a lovely time - a bright time - a God given time.

Let me focus more on that stuff, God, than on my own 'stuff'.  Let me prioritize my children, the same way that YOU have Lord... let me remain persistent, creative, interested, and tender to the babies you've trusted me with. Let me not VEX my children, but BLESS them instead.

Amen.

        

Who are you?  No, really, who are you?

I spent so many years (nearly 40) trying to be someone else that it took me a long time to figure out who I really was (yep; nearly 40).  I just read the following phrase in someone's bio and I got a huge electric shock because it was Right. On... 

"I think so many people are ruled by fear and are busy trying to be exactly what they think society expects--no more and no less. They never really become who they were made to be."

That is a pretty insightful remark.

I remember one bright day at the beginning of my "college" career - standing outside the classroom on a break and chatting with another girl.  I remember thinking to myself, "oh my goodness! you sound so cheerful! is this who you are? yes, yes this is actually you - all talkative and chatty and so freakin' happy -  weird!"

And I remember one bright day at the beginning of my life, standing outside my workplace, chattering to a tall dark handsome guy - I said, "I'm not into playing games anymore, I just want to be real. I want a husband as the head of my house and I want to be a wife..."  And I remember later on, much later on, that same tall dark handsome man telling me that it was that exact moment that he fell in love with me: in spite of the fact that I was a divorced single mom with super short hair and a "blond giggle", and how that same tall dark handsome man became my best friend, and my husband, and the father of my children...and the head of our household.

Not so long ago I asked a friend,
"Hey, I know I've asked you this a number of times but I just want to say it again, um, are you really ok? Cuz honestly you seem different and even though you keep saying you are ok I can't help but notice the difference lately..." 

His face broke into the more traditional grin I was accustomed to and he explained that yes, he really was ok... and then explained more.  He said yes, in the past he'd said he was ok but was faking it the whole time (just like most of us)  but right now in this very minute, he really was OK.  He was in a place of balance and peace. 

I was really happy for him but then wondered how many opportunities he'd missed to be ministered to and loved, how many opportunities I'd missed on pushing him more, probing and digging more in order to show the light that God gave me, to share the light that God gave me.  And I wondered if he was telling the truth.

Then, I wondered some more... what if I never became who I was supposed to be?  Would God recognize me?  If He created me, knew me before I was in my mothers womb, knew every hair on my head, but because of free will I was allowed to change my hair, change my shape and face and voice, and because of free will potentially change my birthdate (that would be my mothers free will...) would God ever know who I was? And then, well, if God didn't know who I was, how was I ever going to know?  And man, that thought just blew my mind and I had to stop wondering.

That is one frightening thought - that I could possibly NEVER know who I was supposed to be, that God wouldn't recognize me... and boy, did I decide to embrace authenticity like never before!  Even if I never really became who God intended me to be, I wanted to be a close enough replica that He'd at least nod thoughtfully in my direction and maybe even have that "i think i know that person" smile on His face. 

I don't know who I am supposed to be.  I only know that I AM supposed to be.  God said so, and I believe Him.  So I am trying to be, as much as possible, the me that feels the rightest way... even when that 'me' doesn't feel very happy, content, sure, positive, balanced or peaceful.  I want to be what God wants me to be... and I'll keep trying again and again until He can recognize me when the announcer calls out, "Will The Real You Please Stand Up!"

        

In a video that I show to my Childbirth class, the same video each time "week 2" rolls around in any given series, there is a woman in labor.  She lies in the hospital bed, smiling wearily up at her husband to one side of her.  A doula is seated on a stool by her other side, holding her hand.  Labormom whimpers that she is "...beginning to be afraid of the contractions" and her doula tells her that, "this, yes, this is the hardest thing you will ever do..."  And every time I reach this scene, I roll my eyes and twist my mouth and a feeling akin to repulsion washes over me.  Every. Single. Time.  I have watched this video segment so many times over the past 7 years but it is only within the past year that I have had this reaction. 

I have given birth to three children, without pain medication, without any medical intervention, and done it on purpose.  I have had a labor lasting as long as 20 hours, one quick delivery, and a labor as short as 6 hours, and one prolonged difficult delivery that almost went very very wrong.  And none of my three birthing experiences was ever, ever, ever as hard or as painful as some of the other things I've experienced in my life.  If Childbirth is the hardest thing you ever have to do?  Then you are lucky.

My first true experience with death wasn't my "missing cat" or my "sleeping guinea pig", my "gone to heaven" grandfather that I hadn't seen since I was a toddler... it was watching my mother die.

It was pretty horrible, all the drama and intensity and crisis...but what was harder was getting married without my mom, having a baby without my mom, and watching my firstborn graduate highschool without my mom.  The moment of realization that I was doing something that was a significant relational growth factor without the very one who had been there/done that before me was always a striking and numbing moment.  It would be this moment of dread that coursed through me, a chill washing over me and a renewal of that original grief... plus the addition of this new wound.

The moment I got the phone call telling me that my uncle, my moms younger brother, and my mentor and guide, was diagnosed with the same disease that had taken my mother from me, THAT was harder than hearing my midwife say to me in a tense tight voice, "Dionne? You must push this baby out right now".  And the way our entire lives were uprooted, by choice but no less easy because of that, seeing my children hurt and bewildered, watching them struggle and flail about because of me... that was harder too.  Knowing that my actions back then before my uncle passed away and my subsequent actions after he passed away were to blame for some of the defining characteristics in my children, has been very very very hard to choke down, to digest, to eliminate.

Sometimes, in my life, the act of living has seemed harder yet than the act of birthing new life.

Watching my child, the one I've fought for, advocated for, encouraged and supported and loved, the one I first gave birth to, first learned from, and first dragged kicking and screaming through her teen years, give up her entire future for the love I could just not give enough of, has nearly destroyed my heart.

Seeing young girls in my classes become unfit mothers, holding an abandoned or neglected or abused child in my arms, seeing my husband undergo risky spinal nerve radio frequency testing, hearing that my stepfather may have cancer - all those things have been just as hard as 20 hours of childbirth, sweating and crying and pushing and overcoming the whole way.

When my friend called me early one morning a year ago to say her sister was critically ill and could I take her boys after school, I actually ached inside my own heart for her.  I ached for her fear, her potential loss, her anxiety, and her burdens.  When she called me just recently to  tell me her mother was also very ill, it hurt all the way to my toes.  Her grief and fear were so tangible and I so badly wanted to take them on for myself... grief and fear I'd already experienced and knew deep within... grief and fear that no one can carry for you but that you must work through on your own.

And this newest thing is so far maybe the hardest yet.  It makes me fear for what else is still yet ahead of me.  I met this person, a stranger, in a time of need.  I came specifically to meet a portion of that need.  Instantly I felt drawn in, welcomed, befriended.  As time passed, all those fun feelings came stronger and richer and more beautiful, as true friendships are apt to be.  And as all the loveliness that is "friendship" blossomed and grew, the other portions of her need also grew: bigger, darker, nastier, scarier, and more draining, as true need is apt to be.  For the first time in my life, even undergoing the impending death of my mother, I prayed to God to inflict ME instead of someone else.

I was driving down the road, lined with trees swaying in the wind, everything around me fresh and green and so flagrantly God-blessed.  I was praying and with everything I had I pleaded for this burden to be shifted onto my own shoulders, for the darkness to be lifted from another and blanketed onto myself.  I asked God directly to please, take me in place of.  And God replied.

He spoke into my heart with the vision of His own son, beaten, ridiculed, and tortured - and He placed the image of my child there in that place and then He asked me if I would give my own child instead of myself?  And I am ashamed that I could not.

I could, however, see even more clearly just how awesome the gift of our Lord is, understanding at least some of what the cost was for God.  I would, gladly, give my life in exchange for my dear friend, but I could not hand over my child. 

I am so sorry that I am not so brave, so courageous, so selfless... and that I am so sinful, so human, so insignificant after all.  And I am sorry that I cannot lift the burden of another.  God will have to do that for me... and I trust that He will.

        

I have been struggling a little bit lately with my goal of being authentic.  I've so immensely enjoyed the freedom it brings, and the relief of confession, the joy of finding support, and the amazing things I've learned by putting it all out there instead of hiding it all away.  I've also been amazed at how easy it is to overstep social boundaries and regurgitate more info than I should to more people than I should. Sigh.

But Satan strikes where he can and my initial rush of regurgitating all my "issues" has passed and I'm a tiny bit getting all internal.  One problem with this is that it can be taken by some as secretive, or exclusive, or as plain old snobby.  But I wonder, after someone expressed this to me, if people I don't know very well become intimidated by knowing all too much about some of my recent turmoil.  Like, thinking to themselves, "whoa, that's the woman who blahblahblah!"  I also have a faint fear that there is some judgement being passed.  As in, "Dude, who really needs to know YOUR stuff? Just do something already and quit whining!"

I look back at my relationships with some people who I know are authentic and I think about how knowing some of their deeper insights has given me a better understanding of who they are and why they are a certain way... and it's easier to know how to respond to them. Others who are less authentic leave me feeling disconnected though. Those people are hard for me to converse with, hard to trust, easy to give up on.

Aside from the problems presented by being being inauthentic, is that by being authentic, when I am as 'out there' as possible, I am also throwing my family and friends out there too.  I risk embarrassing, angering, or otherwise creating discordance among my family members.  Maybe Hannie would be humiliated by something I'd written about her, maybe Noah would be embarrassed, maybe David would be hurt.  I totally had never looked at that before.  Never really thinking about MY authenticity affecting their privacy.

How much privacy is one supposed to hold onto? I know plenty of people who are very private.  And I have equal amounts of respect for their ability to smile and nod, and to always maintain this sense of propriety, sense of 'o.k.-ness" and equal parts bewilderment (who is this persn really?) and hurt (wha? they can't tell me if something is troubling them?)  And so I don't ever really feel close to them.  I know others who blab and blab about things that embarrass ME - personal body stuff, intimacy with partners, etc.  Things I wouldn't share, things I don't really even want to know despite my innate desire to know things. I guess it depends though, truly, on the purpose of sharing information. This is where those social boundaries become so tricky to navigate and it isn't until you've tripped over them a few times that it becomes clear.

If I don't know you WELL, but have simply chatted with you once or twice, it's a little innapropriate to discuss your intimate life with your husband, or your childs psychiatric disorder. If I DO know you, have been in a small group setting with you, worked on a church project with you, spent time alone with you outside of our church relationship, it would be so awkward to me to find out later on that you hadn't mentioned that you were in the middle of a divorce, or that you were thinking of leaving the church, or that your father died.  I would be left wondering why you didn't tell me, why you didn't trust me, why you felt you didn't want to tell me. And then I would wonder what else you didn't tell me.

In a sense, blogging your secrets can be good because blogs are typically out there and are read by people who don't know you or where you live - and you can get great warm fuzzy emails and comments.  On the other hand, if your pastor happens across your blog, or your kids principal, or your boss... you could have a small scary moment or two... if you didn't mean for that to happen.

But what if you did?  What if you did mean for your kids teacher to find you and read about your financial crisis or your leap into faith - what if you meant it, because you didn't want to be just another face, just another adult, just another parent.  What if you wanted a potential employee to see it because you simply didn't care if they knew those things.  What is that? Is that narcissism? Tripping over social boundaries? Being weird? or is it just shoulder shrugging nonchalant authenticity?

I dunno.  do you?

        

I was watching the news not long ago and heard a story about "dumpster diving".  My kids and I sat around making all the socially appropriate "ewww!" noises and disgusted faces as the news story continued on about dumpster diving for food in NYC.  I have been to NYC...and there were rats and roaches right there on the sidewalk with people -no telling what's in the garbage!

Then I heard a story about a person who found an entire dumpster behind a major retailer that was full of packaged and new but unsold school supplies.  Everything from packs of pencils to calculators, everything from .10 items to $5.00 items... all brand new, unused, and all dumped.

Even more recently I was given a bag o swag at a conference... we aren't talking celebrity swag, but a vendor just decided he was done and scooped the last of his freebies into a back and handed it to me.  My first thought was actually, "Oh! Who can I give this too?" Authentically and transparently followed up with, "...maybe I can keep just one?"

I started thinking about waste.

No one I asked could give me a reasonable excuse why perfectly good items were disposed of in a dumpter, or why FOOD was being tossed...or why a convention vendor would dump the last of his contents into ONE BAG and give it away to just one person.  Someone somewhere paid for those things.  Why couldn't they be donated instead?

I do a lot of freecycling.  I have freecycled top quality name brand childrens clothes instead of Ebaying them, freecycled dry goods the kids decided they didn't like.  I've been the recipient of all nature of items for use by our foster children, or as donations to my classes.  And there are many more organizations out there that encourage giving... yes, there are a lot of good people out there. But I'm not talking about giving away the rusty bike in the corner of your garage, or a bag full of mismatched socks and the shoes you bought at Walmart and forgot to return, or a half a box of single serve Insta-pudding tubes.

I'm talking about school supplies.  I'm talking about personal hygeine necessities.  I'm talking about the amount of money spent on advertising your name on a box of personalized color coded mnm's, and the potential income produced by that vs some lazy guy ditching his swag stash so he could book out before the rush hour hit.

What are all of our commercial retailers up to? To have dumpster diving as a crime seems a greater tragedy even worse than the crime of waste, but that's not it... it's that it's just unfathomable to throw away items that could be used for the good of your own community.

Don't be a waster.  Go to Big Y, they have buy one get 3 free sales, and then take your surplus downtown.  Go to Stop n Shop or Price Chopper for the Dollar Deals... and give away the one's you don't need.  The hole ridden sheets you need to replace? Animal Shelter. Weird rebate check you don't remember applying for? Turn it into McD's gift cards and pass them out to the homeless on the corner, or buy bus tickets or a taxi voucher for someone. Give.  Give, and ye shall recieve.

And go stop by your Target or Walmart and give someone a stern lecture, write a letter to someone at the top. Get an article written by your community paper....or write your own blogpost.

And be blessed.

Dionne

        

He looks at her with puzzlement.  "It's a baby" he says, "right?"

We laugh.  Oh we laugh a lot.  And we tease him.  He grimaces when she crawls near him, and he hands napkins to other people to wipe her drool with.  He shakes his head, turns to his wife, "I dunno babe, I dunno..." and she laughs too.  He nearly leaves when she has a messy diaper.  Her crying is so foreign - "Can't you just tell her to stop?" He is only half joking. Time passes and he learns to smile at her and say hello if she wanders near him, but still he doesn't want to touch her.

That was 7 months ago.

Today, he went to her crib when she woke up.  He called her sweetheart, and lifted her into his arms. His dashboard is covered in chewed up and sneezed out raisin remnants.  His keyboard is full of sticky fingerprints.  His cell phone is hers whenever she is around. He buys her ice cream and pushes her in the pink stroller.  Although it is his wife I call when I need a sitter, it is him who does the sitting.  He holds her on one arm, her round diapered tush balanced just right and her not so petite body looking tiny and feminine in his arms.  He jiggles her a little and when she smiles he says, "I just LOVE this kid!"

God is so amazing isn't he? To reshape ones entire spirit, through love, so entirely... so completely.  Amazing.

        

Today will not be the first time I cried over a foster child.  It wasn't the first time I've cried over this foster child.  I'm equally sure that it will not be the last.

Madi is our 15th foster child.  They've mostly all been babies, and mostly all short term/temp stays.  Madi came to us almost a year ago, a pudgy cross eyed 10 month old.  Today she is 21 months, with huge  Lilo and Stitch  brown eyes and little curlsat the ends of her hair. Her bangs brush her eyelashes and her cheeks are round and pink.  She is wearing REAL shoes, Striderite Shoes, shoes that make her such a big girl.  At 10 months, she cried a lot and was clingy.  It's not too different at 21 months, except now she can smile and flirt, give kisses and hugs and high fives.  Now she runs and laughs and dances and says, "wahb yoo!"

Today I cried over Madi.  I drove down the street and saw such poverty that I nearly forgot I was in a big city, less than 10 miles from my own home.  On this street I saw some boys as young as 6 riding bikes, no helmets, no shirts, in the middle of the road.  No grown ups.  On this street I saw an older toddler, in nothing but a diaper, playing with a broom on a front porch while his momma smoked a cigarette and talked on the phone at the bottom of the steps.  On this street I saw a group of men, young, hugely muscled, freakishly tatooed, scary angry men - in the middle of the day - right there on the street - in their nylon webbed CVS chairs and their music, smoke floating in the summer sun around them.  Every house was multi-family, surrounded by concrete, cars, weeds, trash.  On this street is where I am supposed to leave my Madi.  And I do.

When I return, early, I see her there on the sidewalk.  She is facing her father and eating something he is handing her.  I wonder if it is something peanutty, something full of dairy, something made of petroleum based chemicals and sold cheaply, something she shouldn't be eating.  She is in the direct sunlight and I see the sun gleaming off her golden brown curls and the way her new shoes are so white against the gray pavement.  It is only later that I will notice the slight redness of her arms and feel the clammy chill of fever and know that she did not have any sunscreen on.  It is only now that I wonder if her father even knows that babies SHOULD wear sunscreen.  Even brown babies.

In my car she is full of talk.  Most of her talk is, "ma-mah?" and my reply of "yes baby, I'm right here!" repeatedly.  It is said cheerfully though.  Her cheer changes as soon as we park and walk into the big building. She must know this place from all the times before.  The DSS building.  We ride the elevator to the 2nd floor and when I step out, it is directly into a "waiting room" where the receptionists are encased in bullet proof glass with little speaker systems.  The long hallway before me holds closed doors, individuals parked on benches and plastic chairs waiting for their turns, and the sounds of crying.  A few people are with children. No one is smiling.  No one.

I am ushered into a small room with a rocking chair and some bright clean toys.  Madi experiments cautiously with a little push toy, glancing at me often to judge my reaction.  Within seconds though, we are ushered out, it's the wrong room, not our room.  Our room is the one at the end, the big room, the room with tables, chairs, and no toys. The room with grit on the sills, obvious dirt on the floors, and no toys at all.  I ask for toys.  I am nodded at but ultimately told, "no, this room doesn't have toys".  And this is where I sit for an hour with Madi.  A window-less big room, concrete block walls and cold tile floor, flickering flourescent lights, and whatever objects from my purse that are safe to play with. 

We sit for an hour, Madi's mother hovering over us and Madi screeching indignantly whenever her mother even looks in our direction.  Madi hasn't seen her in 3 or 4 weeks - I don't know, I lost track. I only know that Madi begs plaintively for juice but shrieks when her mother tries to give her some juice she brought in a Dora cup.  Madi continues to beg for juice, and for bye-bye, and for outside.  She cries and cries.  She is silenced by the removal of her shoes and the admiration of her pretty painted toes.  She cries more though and is placated with her mothers cell phone.  When I tell Madi to give it back, she reaches out with no complaint.  Now THAT is a sure sign that she is upset.  My girl loves her some cell phone.  She cries again. I feel her fever coming and notice the red tint to her arms, her little pudgy arms peeking out of the spaghetti strapped polka dotted blouse I just bought her the other day.  She stays in my arms or on my lap, frantic at every opportunity to encourage her to get down, to look at her mother, to dance or sing.  After little more than a half hour or crying interludes, I suggest that we get the social worker back since Madi is not feeling well.  Madi waves her hand wildly and shouts,"Byebye, byebye, ahh done!" and then falls back into crying when she realizes we aren't leaving.  It is another 20 minutes before we are released.  Madi is nearly asleep in my arms.  At the car, she practically leaps into her carseat... so ready to leave.

And so when Madi slept, I cried.

I cried for her future.  For what it could be, what it won't be.  I cried for her sense of loss and mistrust, her anxiety and her allergies and asthma.  I cried for her pretty pink toenails and the image of her in nothing but a diaper playing with a broom.  I cried for missing her, even though she isn't gone yet.

God? I know you love Madi. I know you have a reason for her, for her life, and for her presence in mine.  God, please, help me to trust you.  Help me to give Madi up to you, for you, and to be able to know she is in your grace.  God? I know that you must love Madi's mother and father too.  But I don't.  Help me to be forgiven for not loving them... but how could I ever?  God? please...please...please...pick Katie and Brian, pick the Greene's, pick ME, but please don't let Madi go back to the place she came from.  I know you love her. I know it. I know you love me.  And I know I can't save every child that needs saving...but I can save this one.  Just this one.  Help me to trust you.

Amen.

        

It lasted 3 weeks.  Three weeks of "There is a chipmunk in my house!".  Three weeks of "HEY! I see him, I seeeee him!" and a rousing chase.  Three weeks of chipmunk 'chips' all over my carpet, little holes chewed in the side of the bag of catfood, and of keeping Maddie away from the big old monster traps that would likely amputate her little baby fingers.  And now?  He's gone.

No funeral or "remembrance" needed because when Chip left, he left via the secondslashthird floor window in an almost graceful fall/glide upon which he promptly scurried like a flash of lighting across the yard and into the trees with one interested cat close behind.  If only she'd been that interested sometime during the past few weeks!

It's a long story so I'll shorten it for you: Cat brings in chipmunk. Chipmunk makes himself at home. Gets Chased. Is found on inner side of window between window and screen. Dashes into portable AC tubing when approached by frantic screaming. Trapped in AC tubing during more screaming.  Window fully opened, AC tubing hung out the window (idea proposed by Hannah) Chipmunk falls out of tube.  The End. Except for the lots of tapping and shaking before the "out" part happened. 

And? Chip is gone.  Hallelujah!  One live chipmunk now out in the wild where he/she belongs, and my deep seated fear of a chipmunk crawling into bed with me is laid to rest.  God, bless the portable air conditioner, the smart 10 year old girl, and the open window. Amen

May you have a chipmunk free kind of day...

Dionne

        

I want a small, inconspicuous tatoo on my wrist. One that will remind me to turn towards God, to be authentic, and to honor all those I've loved (and lost) to cancer.  I want to defeat cancer through prayer and will power.  I want the tatoo to be something for ME, not for anyone else to notice or question. But I don't want it hidden, I want it exposed. Authentic.  Any suggestions?

I decided to keep my job.  Someone else I know has struggled for over a year with a sucky job and while I have prayed for them and thought about them and hurt for them, I have also been unconciously inspired by them.  After this weekend and a lot of thoughts, I remembered this person and I was convicted to follow in their steps. I will continue to look for a job with better hours, and one that has a less spiritually harming atmosphere, but for now I will put on the armour of God and do my job with a smile on my face.  Dont' forget to pray for me on Mondays, Fridays, and Saturdays though OK?

This weekend I taught a childbirth class and the rush of joy and fulfillment was incredible.  I have a 5 week series coming up which will take me away from my other job a little bit and so... all is well!

I miss my daughter so much. She was in church with me on Sunday and came to a party with us afterwards.  But in between Church and the party, she was home. I heard Steph and Noah laughing together and playing PS2 and the sound was like angel music.  And to hear Maddie saying, "sissy!" was so precious.  I treasured the memory of a phone conversation with Steph a few days ago when she said, "I can't wait to see Noah and Hannah, I miss them!"  I was reminded about how "Mary treasured all these things in her heart" and about how Jesus also had a mother who loved Him.

My friend Stacy has become a treasure to my every day.  She is wise and God fearing, loving and tender, and not afraid to lovingly rebuke one's spirit.  She counseled me in my marraige and brought me to a place where I could once again open my heart to God and to my husband.  She helped me to see what was right in front of me and I will forever be grateful to her tender compassion... and also for the way she can make me laugh hard enough that snot flies out of my nose.  Stacy and her husband have unfathomable trial in their life right now.  Stan has cancer.  He and Stacy appear to be attacking cancer with their love, their humor, their faith, and their constant willingness to accept what God is working on in their lives. How can you NOT see them and want to be just like them?  Stan's smile is amazing - it's like a total beam of sunlight exploding outward.  He is so smart and brainy and a little intimidating in that way but then he'll pop off some obscure slightly provocative comment and all you can do is laugh.  He's warm and friendly - and a very hands on Papa which is something that always touches my heart, to see a man be tender with his children.  Please, could you pray with me, right now, for their courage and spirit and faith... for healing, God's Will, for safety... for time... and that His provisions would continue to meet their needs moment by moment.  Thank you.

I have been so blessed lately.  I know I've done a lot of complaining, but it's definitely time to focus more on my blessings.  I've been blessed by Jolen who drives a significant distance to care for my children while I work, and who prays for me also.  I've been blessed by Katie and Brian and their huge sacrifice of time to care for Maddie on those late late nights I work.  I've been blessed by Sue and Garrett and their daughters who've also stepped in and cared for my children.  I've been blessed by Pastor Marty's BootCamp and how awesome his role model/friendship is for Noah - and also by Marty's consistent effort in reaching out toward David.  Marty doesn't give up - and I hope he never will!  I'm blessed beyond belief when I am at church, singing in the worship portion, and feeling God everywhere.  I'm blessed when people I know hug me, touch me kindly, bring over dinner for my family, and do all of these things JUST BECAUSE!  Once, some time ago, I came home to find a plate of scones and cookies and some delicious herbal teas "just to treat you with" left for me by Tanya, whom I know from church but have not really spent a ton of time with.  What treasures God has placed in my life!  All these people do the very thing that Katie once told me - God is weaving a nest underneath me with the love of all these people in my life.  Carie's laugh, Tina's shared "parental moments", Kiley holding my baby in the big pool because I have personal ick issues with pools, David doing the dishes or the laundry even when he is sick.  My cup OVERFLOWS!  Let me share with you...  Stacy, let me wash the floor ok?  Chris, let me arrange the childcare for Andrew!  Kim, let me hug you... I have so much to give and just not enough time to be giving.

My prayer is that God will work in me today, that God will be evident in me, that my actions, words, attitude, and thoughts will glorify and honor Him.  I plan to serve Him today... so I better get off the computer and make myself available!

May the Grace of God go with you today...

Dionne