Hellooooo 30.

Well, it's been two and a half years since I've allowed my fingers and keyboard to meet in this space.

I've had a growing desire to write here as my twenties are coming to a close. If you don't want to read about my last decade of life, now's the time to exit this tab on your computer and watch Netflix instead. Really, I'm going to ramble about ten years worth of events. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The majority of older friends in my life rave about their thirties. I'm truly not dreading adding years, wrinkles, and gray hairs to my life. Aging does not scare me. However, I do find myself grieving the end of a season that was incredibly significant in many, many ways.

When I think back to my twenty year old self, I can't help but smile at all the hope, heartache, dreams, uncertainty, and free time I experienced. That year was filled with late night runs around campus, countless conversations on porches with friends, and continually asking the Lord for what was next. This was the year I decided I would attend cosmetology school after college as a stepping stone for opening a trade school for women reintegrating into society after being rescued from sex trafficking... whew, that's a mouthful. I had a plan. It felt good and sounded right.

Then I met Otha.

There was something about him - I now know it was his Enneagram 8-ness ;) - that drew me to him in a way that caught me off-guard. Our relationship felt so unlikely to happen since we met in March and he was planning on moving to Rwanda in June and then to Morocco in August for a two year teaching job. He told me in an email as we were getting to know each other that if we were supposed to be together God would move mountains. Boom. God did. His Rwanda trip was cancelled by the organization he was going to be working with and that cute guy moved to College Station to give us a chance. I fell in love. To my disbelief, he still boarded a plane in August to head to Morocco for his teaching job. International long-distance dating is not for the faint of heart and I was ready to throw in the towel after a few months. Luckily, his experience in Morocco was less than ideal in 1,000 ways and he decided to move back that Christmas and propose.

At 21 years old (aka an absolute baby), I graduated college and got married. A few months into marriage, right after I turned twenty-two, we found out we were pregnant. This was completely unexpected, unplanned, and happened on the way home from an adoption conference. Since I was so mature at that age *eye roll* I took a pregnancy test during my lunch break without telling Otha. Seeing the double lines, I freaking lost my mind and sprinted shoe-less down the street to my mentor, Staci's house with the pee stick in my hand. Of course, her husband answered the door instead of her while he was having a meeting and there I was holding a freshly peed on pregnancy test blubbering nonsense through tears. They were so gracious in my madness and now I can't think about that moment without laughing.

Asher Isaiah Graham joined our family in 2011 and rocked our world. There are so many details I'm leaving out like how our marriage was so incredibly challenging for me that first year... or how we moved to Austin right after we said "I do." and the Lord brought us right back to Bryan/College Station (B/CS) knowing we would need a special community to walk us through the next four years.

Something that marks those first few years of our marriage was living with other people. If you've never lived with another family or had a friend live with you, I highly recommend it. The first three months of marriage we lived with two different families who graciously opened their home to us as we navigated our lives as newlyweds looking for jobs. In our two room apartment, my dear friend Lisa lived with us during my pregnancy and the first few months of Asher's life. What kind of friend lives with a newborn in a tiny apartment? The best kind. Right after Lisa moved out, our friend Adam moved in because his current living situation had literally caught on fire. We were so grateful for this time with him since he was dating one of my best friends and had the chance to really get to know him more like family. He moved out when he and Juliette got married and shortly after, we purchased out first home. Our friends, the Marions, who had lived in the apartment right under ours decided to live with us in our house while they were back and forth between Ghana and College Station. There were four adults and one baby with a tiny bathroom and we totally made it work. We also had a garage apartment that Lisa and our friend, Michelle, moved into and transformed into a beautiful, welcoming home. So then there were six adults and a baby living together... and a bunch of chickens roaming around the backyard. As a new mom, having that many people around every day was such a gift.

When I was twenty-three, we completed our paperwork and training to become certified as foster parents. Looking back, I can't believe we were so young when we took the leap of faith when Asher was still a baby. Malia arrived at our doorstep literally the day after our certification was complete. Her name at the time was Cathy and she had been born at thirty-two weeks and spent a few weeks in the NICU before coming to our home.

I honestly had no idea the wild ride we were about to take the next year and a half.

Without going into every single detail, Malia's body was really sick but no one knew the extent of it when CPS dropped her off at our house. I took her to the doctor over and over and over again, knowing that something was not right. We were also told multiple times by CPS that she would be placed with her half-siblings who were in a different foster home. The first time we packed her bags for CPS to pick her up the next day to re-locate her, I remember crying in Lisa and Michelle's kitchen, feeling silly for crying because this is what we signed up for. Malia's body shut down that night and I'm not being dramatic when I say that if we had not taken her to the ER, she would have died. Instead of CPS coming the next morning, I was sitting in the PICU in Houston with Malia while she was hooked up to every machine possible. This was the first of many hospital stays.

Over the next year and a half, doctors in Houston would continually discover new things about her body that made it difficult for her to thrive. She spent months completely sedated on a breathing vent. I spent that time sitting next to her seemingly life-less body passing minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months in and out of depression and watching Grey's Anatomy - really, I watched every single episode. Our friends selflessly watched Asher in B/CS while Otha was at work, brought them meals, and drove to Houston to visit me and Malia. The Herringtons gave us a free place to stay close to the hospital in Houston and we are forever grateful for their hospitality and generosity. I can't think about that season of life without feeling completely overwhelmed by how well we were loved by our community. They rallied around us in a "we're in this with you for the long-haul" kind of way.

Malia's health began to improve and we settled into a rhythm at home with six-eight therapies a week, using oxygen tanks, administering twelve different medications multiple times a day, limiting the number of visitors we had in our home and not letting others hold her because of the risk of germs. I was at a follow-up appointment for her in Houston on her first birthday when I got the call from the CPS worker that Malia's biological parents' rights were being terminated. I sobbed. I wrote about this years ago, but I was truly grieving the loss of the relationship between Malia and her parents. They would miss out on her incredible life and she would miss out on theirs.

We finalized Malia's adoption on May 14th, 2014. Then we packed up our house and moved to Fort Worth a few weeks later to be closer to my parents and a children's hospital for Malia.

Leaving B/CS was heartbreaking for me. We lived within walking distance to most of our closest friends and truly did life together. We made meals for each other every week, met as a small group,  had progressive dinners and parties, prayed together, took after-dinner walks to each others' houses, raised babies together, meal prepped in each others' kitchens, folded each others' laundry, celebrated and grieved together. I hope I never take for granted what a rich, life-giving time that was for me.

The second half of my twenties has been spent settling into a new life in Fort Worth.

Living ten minutes away from Cook Children's Hospital and so close to my parents has been a game changer for us. Malia's hospital admissions feel more manageable and appointments feel like a breeze. That alone has made the move here worth it.

FIT4MOM has played a huge role in our life in Fort Worth. It's been a crazy roller coaster of God's provision from the very beginning when I won a 10 Class Pass at a Grand Opening in B/CS  in 2012 to this very day. A year after we moved to Fort Worth, my friend Anna passed along the Fort Worth franchise to me. I put on the hat of a business owner just a few weeks before Ezra joined our family. Honestly, I'm grateful that those two big changes happened at the same time. I learned how to be a mom of three kids and how to keep a business afloat together as one transition. Whenever I feel like I'm failing as a business owner, I remind myself that my business skills are the same age as Ezra... so I'm basically a toddler in the business world and give myself grace. When I feel like I'm failing as a mom, I just pray my kids find a fantastic counselor to talk through their childhood trauma with one day. ;) We're all doing the best we can, amiright?

Maybe it's from devouring all of Dr. Brene Brown's work, digging deep into the Enneagram, meeting with a Life Coach, moving away from a tight-knit community, or simply approaching my thirty's, the past few years have turned me inside out and upside down. I have doubted myself more since moving to Fort Worth than any other season in my life. I've been deconstructing thought patterns and stories I've told myself about other people's perception of me and let me tell you, it's a painful process and so freeing. And I'm ready for more. I crave growth and am willing to fight through the discomfort of facing my blind spots, weaknesses, and sin. I'm feeling ready to move forward into the next decade, shedding my paralyzing tendencies of people-pleasing and limiting beliefs about my worth and potential.

Between graduating, marriage, three kids, moving, and owning a business, my twenties were filled with incredible memories and the sweetest relationships. I've seen God's provision over and over again in our life, moving mountains and increasing our faith. Although I'm not running a cosmetology school for women rescued from sex trafficking like I envisioned at age 20, I wouldn't trade my current life for anything. I dare to say that God's plan was and is better than mine.

May this song be my anthem of the next decade. 

"I will climb this mountain with my hands wide open." Amen.

Coming up with a title is my least favorite part about blogging.

Monday evening, a couple friends and I were discussing the transition from working to being a stay-at-home mom and how you can love both situations.  My friend, Krystal, said something to the affect of "You can love both. You are learning to embrace all of your passions."  How true.  For some reason, that statement resonated with me and I have been churning it over and over in my mind the past few days.

I have always had a few passions.  Well, okay, I am passionate about a lot of things.  If the right circumstance came about, I could become passionate about using a certain type of paperclip, preserving a sloth's habitat, or the Indie film industry.  I have strong feelings towards people, things, ideas.  Strong thoughts?  Nope.  Feelings.  I am a feeler.  And apparently, strong feelings lead to passions.  

Growing up, I thought I needed to find a job that incorporated all of my passions.  "The Perfect Job."  I always thought that my passions existed so I could fulfill said perfect job.  Turns out, my jobs really just fueled my passions and equipped me for future life circumstances.

In middle school, high school, and college, I had the opportunity to work with kids with special needs.  Talk about life-giving and challenging all at the same time.  I cannot express how much I LOVE my families I worked for and thought the experience surely was a preview for my adult career.  At the time, I thought I would pursue a job working with people with special needs.  So I decided my freshman year of college to attain Education and Kinesiology degrees to become an Adaptive P.E. teacher.  This would allow me to be active, wear comfy clothes every day to work, and best of all, spend time with some of the most amazing kids.  Unfortunately, taking education classes zapped the life out of me and I felt like I should go in a different direction.  

It may or may not have been the wrong choice, but I shifted my studies to obtain a B.S. in Sociology.  Studying people.  In the midst of taking riveting, thought-provoking (and impractical) classes, I set my sites on a career combining a few of my other passions: styling hair and the sex slavery industry.  In my 20 year old confidence, I had a vision of eventually opening up a free cosmetology school overseas for women who had been sold into the sex industry and were then rescued.  These women benefit from having a skill or trade to support themselves as they begin a new life post-slavery.  Thus, I would teach them how to cut and style hair.  It was going to be amazing, obviously.  First step: attend cosmetology school.  

When Otha and I got married, we moved to Austin, TX with the plan of Otha teaching while I worked part time and attended cosmetology school.  We toured quite a few schools and I had my heart set on one.  However, Otha ended up getting an interview in College Station which lead to us moving back to B/CS for Otha to teach.  My save-the-world dream was put on a shelf for awhile.  In the midst of disappointment, I went ahead and looked for a job... any job... to kill time until I could attend cosmetology school.  

I ended up with an absolutely incredible opportunity:  Early Head Start Home Visitor.  You guys.  I get all the feels when I think about this job.  It was a privilege to come into homes and assist families with literacy, parent education (keep in mind, I had raised ZERO children), healthy living choices, and overall being an advocate.  I had the opportunity to learn Conscious Discipline (go look it up RIGHT NOW), help a mom study for her GED, support a grandmother who was raising her grandchildren via foster care, help a single mom receive counseling services, the list is ENDLESS.  I came home every day completely spent, yet my heart was overflowing.  Due to our sweet Asher surprise, I only worked for Early Head Start for 10 months.  Little did I know how much that job would equip me in compassion and knowledge for our parenting journey.  

I thought I would NEVER EVER find a job I loved as much as Early Head Start.  After having Asher, I toyed with the idea of going back to work as a Home Visitor.  Allow me to tell you a secret:  social work jobs pay pennies.  Shocking, I know.  If I had gone back to work, I would have had to pick up a second job just to cover childcare expenses for Asher.  So we decided it was best for me to stay home.  Truly, I loved staying home with Asher and was so thankful for it, yet I missed working with my families.  I went from being surrounded by co-workers, families that I dearly loved, and lunch breaks with friends to being at home staring at a baby in our quiet apartment.  

Then I found FIT4MOM.  You all know how passionate I am about FIT4MOM.  If you don't, well, know that I am.  The combination of fitness, community, and mothering together satisfied other aspects of myself that Early Head Start did not fulfill.  I can't count the number of times I have thought to myself, "I have the best job!!!" in regards to instructing FIT4MOM classes and now owning a franchise.  However, I feel torn when I think that... because I thought that to myself when I worked for Early Head Start.  I am passionate about both.  Yet, they are different.  They fulfill separate passions of mine and yet have both been so life-giving.  'It's a healthy tension' (shout out to Comm Church).  

*Sigh* I am getting offtrack.  I thought my passions were to point me in the direction of my fated career.  Then in turn, my jobs have given me tools for my passions.  All those years I worked with kids with special needs were not to prepare me to be an Adaptive P.E. teacher, to work for Special Olympics, or run a camp for these kids.  God was preparing me to be Malia's mom.  For some reason, I never thought I would parent a child with special needs... just volunteer or have a career in that category.  Yet, here I am, doing the same things I did in middle school, high school, and college but for my own daughter.  

What about hair?  Duh.  Malia.  Again.  I don't think I will ever go to cosmetology school.  However, I am glad it was on my radar.  It inspired me to give friends hair cuts (some successful... others not so much; sorry Justin, Brandon, Adam...), style hair for weddings, and pay attention to detail in hair care (don't look at my own hair as an example).  I now cut Otha's and Asher's hair which saves our family money AND I semi know what I am doing with Malia's hair.  If I had not pursued my passion for styling hair, I would have had a mild heart attack when Malia showed up at our door.  Braids?  No problem.  Twists?  I'll give it a try.  Weave?  Ask me in 15 years.  

Early Head Start?  Conscious Discipline.  I am already a terrible parent half the time with these tools in my belt.  I don't even want to imagine what I would be like without helpful Conscious Discipline philosophy and vocabulary.  ALSO, working with a few families who were knee deep in foster care gave me a well-rounded perspective of the system.  I no longer only thought about the kids.  The biological parents, relatives, friends, teachers... everyone is affected by a foster care case.  Not to say that it lessened the severity of the kids' situation in my mind, instead it expanded my compassion to everyone involved.  This laid a foundation for us to enter into foster care truly wanting redemption and second chances for the biological parents, equipping for relatives, and respect for case workers.  

FIT4MOM?  This is my current job.  And I'm obsessed.  Reflecting back on my other jobs that God has used to equip me for my daily life, I can only imagine what FIT4MOM is preparing me for.  I am hopeful it's for an improv gig.  Or to be Jimmy Fallon's co-host.  Either will do.  

It's funny how I have made countless plans for my life.  Then God graciously uses those "plans" to steer me in a different direction and prepare me for really what's in store.  There are still passions in me that are untapped.  Yet, I no longer feel anxious that I have to find a career/activity/purpose that fulfills all of them at once.  I can embrace all of my passions, all of me, while knowing that there are seasons for each one.  Just because I am teaching fitness classes right now does not mean I don't have a heart for advocating for families in need.  Or just because I am only using my hair skills for Malia, does not mean I still don't long to help women sold into the sex industry.  Or because we decided to have another biological kid, doesn't mean I am not heart-broken for kids waiting to be adopted.  I used to be so harsh on myself for not doing it all and feeling so torn about how to juggle all of my passions.  Slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning to be kind to myself and trust that God has a plan that's exponentially better than mine.  

My Little Man

Considering my last post was 6 months ago, I could write about so many things.  Otha and I celebrated our 5 year anniversary, Malia started walking (thank you, sweet Jesus), and we filled our summer with memorable trips.  However, I just want to write about Asher.  

Oh, Asher.  How you drive me crazy, yet my heart explodes with love for you. Parenting is a strange phenomenon, is it not?  

Last month, Asher turned four years old.  This birthday seemed different from previous years.  Not only did he officially graduate from toddlerhood, but he helped plan his 4th birthday party (unlike last year where he did not know birthday parties were a thing... parenting success).  We threw a Halloween/costume party, causing most children to sweat profusely under extra layers in July.  I am happy to say that no one died of heat stroke.  

I am so happy Otha is a genius and came up with the Halloween/costume theme.  It captured so much of how Asher loves to spend his time:  dressing up and telling spooky stories... and acting like he has eating buckets of Halloween candy, but really it's just his temperament.  

Every single day he dresses up in a costume.  And every single day I have to figure out how to parent his wild, passionate, persistent spirit.  A few weeks ago, he wanted to dress up like an astronaut.  Let me explain to you what his astronaut costume consists of:  putting on every single costume item he owns, layer upon layer, with a plastic drum over his head as a helmet.  Considering it was over 100 degrees outside, I had to turn down his astronaut dream that day.  He cried.  I tried to explain that it's too hot outside.  He threw a fit.  I tried reasoning again, offering him other costume alternatives.  His fit grew colossal.  I then told him he would die.  He could die in the heat with 10 layers on outside... in August... in Texas. "Asher, it's not safe."  "BUT I WANT TO BE AN ASTRONAUT!"  "Asher, you will die."  "I DON'T CARE!!!!" "Asher, you could LITERALLY DIE!!" Tears upon tears.  Twenty minutes later he settled on being a pirate.  This type of thing every day.  All day.  

His imagination is beautiful and more than I could have asked for.  I can hand him a pile of mush and he can turn it into something magical in his mind.  We have minimal outside toys and somehow he finds adventure in our backyard using his costumes, rocks, dirt, and sticks.  He also enjoys cutting roly polys in half with his saw.  Poor little things.  

Something I try to savor, but takes so much effort, is his need for us to join him in his imaginary world.  Well, for us to join him in anything he does.  If he goes to the bathroom, he wants someone to go with him.  The horror it would be if he had to grab something from his bedroom without a chaperone.  If I walk out of a room he is playing in he asks "WHERE ARE YOU GOING??" soon followed by "ARE YOU COMING BACK TO THIS ROOM?".  If I am not coming back to that room immediately, I then have a little Asher shadow following me wherever I am going.  It's not uncommon for me to lock him out of the bathroom so I can pee in peace for 30 seconds.  And you better believe that entire 30 seconds Asher is pounding on the door saying, "Mommy!  It's me!! Let me in!!"  His level of extroversion is impressive.  I am an extrovert, yet Asher has taken it to a whole new level.  When he does something, it's 100%.  I am sure this will come in handy some day.  But as a four year old, it makes me want to beat my head against the wall sometimes.  

In one week, this crazy, fun boy is going to start Pre-K.  He thinks it's the coolest thing ever to go to school "just like Daddy".  When I ask him what he is most excited about, he talks about playing on the playground and in the classroom with the other kids.  He is pumped.  Meanwhile, I am crying.  I think he will thrive in a classroom setting and enjoy the experience.  But he is my first baby.  I am already freaking out about him fitting in, listening to the teacher, sitting by himself at lunch, peeing his pants from getting so distracted, etc.  I want to protect him from everything.  This will be more of a growing process for me than it will be for him.  And as much as he drives me nuts, he is my buddy and makes me laugh and smile every single day.  Now I am just rambling.  Point being- I am learning to let him grow up... and it's challenging.  He, on the other-hand, already talks with excitement about turning 18 so he can move away and get a dog.

This boy has captured my heart and stretched me in countless ways.  Poor guy is our guinea pig for Otha and I's parenting methods and yet he so easily forgives us.  I can lose my patience with him, make terrible parenting choices, and one minute later he asks if I want to play legos with him.  I am ever so thankful for his grace.  And I will need it every single day as I learn how to guide him in to adulthood.  

Asher Isaiah Graham, we are so thankful the Lord surprised us with you!  May we continue learning how to love you well the rest of your days.  

  

New Community

Every season comes to an end.

Although people like to encourage me during difficult seasons by reminding me that it won't last forever, that every season comes to an end, I usually say it to myself in the easier seasons of life.  Soak up the blissful moments, but also know growing pains are to come.

To spare everyone details, Monday morning we called 911 due to Malia's health.  She has been an inpatient at Cook Children's Hospital ever since.  Despite all of her previous known health issues, this hospital stay is due to her endocrine system, which is completely new territory for our family.  I don't really like giving health updates because every day there are different guesses, answers, game plans from her medical team.  It feels exhausting to take in the information and then also relay it to others.

Yes, her health is terrifying.  But along with that it has been scary to let new people into our journey with Malia.  In the past, we had a community and friends who we had done life with for a long time before Malia was even placed in our home.  I felt safe in Houston knowing that we had a solid support system.  We have only lived in Fort Worth for 7 months, which does not feel long enough to open up this part of our lives to new friends.

The word that comes to mind is vulnerability.  I feel completely vulnerable needing help, especially the help that we needed this past week.  It's not like I have been pouring into these people for years and have held their hands through tough times.  I still feel like the new girl in the neighborhood and the new girl in our church and the new girl in a circle of friends.  To be new and plead for help is humbling.  To say "I have not given anything to you in the past, yet I need so much from you in this moment" challenges me on countless levels.

I told Otha Monday evening that it feels so awkward to even tell new friends what is happening in our life.  Do I text the people I partially know, but want to know more to inform them Malia had to be taken in an ambulance?  Or do I wait until the next time I naturally see them and mention that our life got crazy, but now everything is back to normal?  But this is a HUGE part of my life.  I have a daughter with special needs, who spends long periods of time living in hospitals, who has 6 therapies a week plus numerous other medical appointments, who may be the same age as your kid but functions a year behind.  As much as I want to appear to be an easy person to really do life with, I come with a lot of responsibility.  I feel like I need to have people sign waivers before they decide to be my friend on a deeper level- a disclaimer explaining that when Malia gets sick, our whole life gets crazy and my friends help hold us together.

This past week I found myself really without a choice.  Both Asher and I had a stomach bug, so I could not be with Malia at the hospital and my parents could not watch Asher because he was contagious and Otha still needed to go to work.  And you know what happened?  I had to take down all of my pride and ask for help.  And people just kept blessing us.  Over and over.  People brought over bags and bags of food and supplies for me and Asher, my mom spent several days at the hospital with Malia so that Otha could go to work, neighbors dropped off dinners, friends brought over activities to keep Asher busy while I was really sick.  And they just won't stop.  Within hours of creating a list of things we will need next week, all the slots were filled with names who are willing to sacrifice their time to make our life easier.  I cannot count the number of times I have wept with thankfulness and humility this week.  I am completely overwhelmed by how gracious the Lord has been in providing people who are taking care of us.

So thank you to everyone that we have pulled into this messy life of ours- I am truly blown away by your generosity, kindness, and eagerness to help.  And don't worry, this crazy season of our life will come to an end.

That Stroller Thing I Do

A whole blog post dedicated to Fit4Mom.  Whoa.

Where to even start?

How about here: When people used to ask me how I spent my time as a mom when I first had Asher, I would embarrassingly choke out the words "Stroller Strides."  I could not say it without laughing or making fun of the name.  Now I hand out fliers like a mad woman and talk to every mom within ear shot about Stroller Strides.  (And it helps that Corporate re-branded to Fit4Mom, thanks gals!)

I am obsessed.

The amazing Ellen Wilcox (also owner of Pure Energy Dance Studio- check it out!) opened a Stroller Strides franchise in Bryan/College Station in April 2012.  I happened to enter a drawing on a friend's website to win 10 free classes... and I won!  Good thing I did.  Pridefully, I was always the type of person to judge those who spent money on exercise.  As a runner and avid fitness video fan (That's real.  I love them), I felt like people should be able to exercise for free any time, anywhere.  Just grab your shoes and go for a run, ride your bike, walk to the grocery store, etc.  Spending money on a gym membership seemed like such a waste of money.  But then I went to Stroller Strides.  I cannot express to you how sore I was after that first class.  Somehow, in all my running and 80's workout videos I missed out on some serious strength training.

Anyways, I used my ten free classes and found myself in a dilemma.  Do I betray my standards and pay for a membership OR stop going to a class that I had unexpectedly grown to love?  I picked up a little job on the side to pay for a membership.

Not only did I find myself getting stronger, but I found myself forming friendships with women in the same stage of life as me.  This became a treasure.  Being at home with a baby can quickly become isolating, especially when it's your first.  Your day is a blur of feedings, changing diapers, trying to get the baby to sleep, and then every blue moon you can maybe change out of pajamas or brush your teeth.  The women at Stroller Strides were in the same trenches as me.  A mom would show up late and NO ONE would wonder why she was late.  A third of the moms had some sort of bodily fluid from their child on their clothes, no one batted an eye.  A baby would cry while the instructor was talking and no one would be annoyed.  And somehow we all managed to get in a challenging workout while tending to our kids and swapping stories about the sleepless night before.


In the Spring of 2013, I became certified to instruct Stroller Strides and Fit4Baby classes.  One of the best decisions I have made in my adult life.

There is quite a bit that I dislike about the conventional fitness industry, i.e: the focus on how you look, the motivation to be sexy in a bikini,  having the best body around, blah blah blah.  It truly makes me cringe.

When people ask what I do, I feel the need to explain that I do not work for a typical fitness company and that my goals for my mama clients are not for them to post a picture on facebook in minimal clothing with their new hot bod.

"Functional fitness" is what I shoot for every single class.  When I incorporate bicep curls, it's because my mamas are doing that same movement to lift grocery bags out of their car trunks.  Deadlift- same movement for putting a baby down in a pack n' play.  Upright row- folding up a stroller to put in the car.  Squats- bouncing an infant to sleep.  I could go on a on.  These are things that I noticed in my own life when I joined Stroller Strides.  Holding Asher for long periods of time did not make my arms burn with pain any more.  I could lift all my laundry at the laundry mat without hurting my back.  Stroller Strides truly gave me strength for motherhood.

Everything else is secondary in my perspective.  If my mama clients lose weight, wonderful.  Some may feel more confident wearing shorts, more power to them.  Others may be relieved to not have as much arm flab, fantastic.  But if my moms can take care of their families and do daily life with more strength and knowledge to protect their bodies, I feel like I have done my job.

Is fitness the end all?  Absolutely not.  It's a small slice in the realm of holistic healthy living.  But our bodies are the vessels to carry out our lives.  When I am sick, I cannot be around others to show them the love and kindness of Jesus.  If I am injured, I am barely helpful around the house with the kids and keeping our home running smoothly.  When our bodies fail us, it affects everything.


Fit4Mom offers several programs.  Here are the ones that I am certified to teach and LOVE!

Stroller Strides:  You bring your kiddos with you in the stroller for a 60 minute workout incorporating cardio and strength training.  Asher loves going to play with his friends after class.  Malia loves it because we sing kids songs instead of counting reps (genius).  I love it because I get to hang out with other moms, laugh about things our kids say, vent about parenting, simply share life together.  Did I also mention there are weekly play dates and once a month Mom's Night Out??

Fit4Baby:  I cannot think about Fit4Baby without getting teary.  Prenatal health is so very important. Seven months in the womb of someone not receiving (or actively pursuing) prenatal care wrecked Malia's little body.  This class is for expecting mamas.  Bonding about the aches, pains, and joys of pregnancy while taking care of themselves and baby via exercise - just beautiful.

Body Back: This is an 8-week program that focuses on more high intensity exercise partnered with nutrition/food journals.  It's for moms (of any age!) who want some time to re-focus on their health and take some time for themselves to do it.  How refreshing to workout with women in all stages of motherhood!


If you are a mom, I encourage you to go to fit4mom.com and search for the franchise closest to you.  I cannot promise that the moms in that franchise will be as hilarious as the ones in Fort Worth (seriously, so funny) or as ambitious as the ones in College Station, but I have a hunch they will be pretty awesome.  Or off the record, just grab your stroller and a friend and go for a walk!  Be in community with other moms, get some fresh air, and take care of yourself.

After graduating from college, I never would have thought that my personality and passions would lead me to teaching fitness classes.  But here I am and I absolutely love it.  I can't imagine ever teaching classes at a random gym.  Leading classes full of women who are up to their elbows in baby poop, or waddling around due to their pregnant belly, or women who have not slept in 5 years because they are taking care of their kiddos is so incredibly life giving to me.  I walk away from each class filled up.  These moms care so much about others, that they want to take care of themselves enough to do it well.  That's inspiring.

Love me some Fit4Mom.  Spread the word.

Serenity

Pregnancies, adoptions, moving, seemingly milestone events make their way to this blog.

But sometimes I just need to write.  To sift through 1,000 thoughts mingling in my mind, I must sit down with a keyboard and see what comes to life.  

I feel like I have been holding my breath the past few months.  

Waiting for some big life event to happen.

Or a terrible turn of events.

And nothing has happened.  

Our married life has been like a swift moving river- fast paced, rushing around corners of the journey, flooding over obstacles and pushing to the other side.  Yet, now the river has emptied into a quiet, calm lake.

For awhile I felt like a crazy person in the serene lake, wide-eyed and soaked from the recent rapids, life jacket still buckled tight, and gripping my kayak paddle with white knuckles.  

Slowly, but surely, I began to loosen my grip and relax my posture.  

I am realizing I can now exhale.  This is a season of peace for our family.  This is a safe place where we can just be.  

Allow me to explain.

We do not have foster care workers and CPS workers rotating into our house on a consistent basis.  

We can give Malia her medications without having to document it, every time, every day for the state's regulations.

Otha can get to work in less than 10 minutes.

Otha's school is less than 0.5 miles from the children's hospital that Malia receives her care from.

So if you do the math, we can get to Malia's appointments in less than 10 minutes.  Just typing that out makes me teary.  

I plan multiple things on the same day that Malia has appointments.  It used to be an all day affair to take her to Houston for each appointment, including having friends watch Asher in Bryan while Otha was working.

People.  Cook Children's Hospital is amazing.  I bring Asher with me to most of her appointments.  You know why?  Because it's so close to our house.  Because there is FREE VALET PARKING for patients going to appointments in the specialty clinic.  Because the nurses blow bubbles for Asher and Malia while they take her blood pressure. Because the receptionist sees that Asher has come with me and therefore prints out superhero pictures for him to color during the appointment.  Because every person on Malia's care team talks to Asher just as much as Malia and comments on how much they love his cape.  Because he matters to them, just like Malia matters to them.  

Malia's therapy appointments here are only 30 minutes long instead of an hour long.  Some may see this as a downer.  Less therapy- less improvement.  However, I see this as an incredible blessing that helps our life feel a little more normal.  Five therapy appointments in Bryan would equal five hours every week that we needed to be home, but Malia be awake, and not interfering with dinner time, etc.  It was a little challenging.  Here, five therapy appointments equals 2.5 hours a week.  It just feels more manageable.  

I am so thankful I could seamlessly transition to the Fit4Mom village here in Fort Worth.  I can still do what I LOVE and teach classes.  There was a training this week in the DFW area... which was awesome for it to be so close (and that my mom could watch the kids).  Let's be honest, I don't think corporate will ever hold a training in Bryan.  Little things like this add up quickly to help us treasure where our time goes.  

We get to see my parents and grandpa on a consistent basis.  My kids are obsessed with them.  So am I.

I could go on an on.  

For better or worse, I easily become dependent on living a chaotic life.  So when the winds die down and the sun comes out, I panic.  The tranquil makes me nervous, like it's too good to be true.

But it is true.  And I am so very thankful.  I am finally ready to embrace the sweetness this season of life has to offer.  

Bryan/ College Station... How I love thee.

People don't come to Bryan/College Station for vacation or a night on the town, nor would I recommend anyone coming for those reasons.  But this place is one of my favorites.  It's a big enough city to have grocery stores, a mall [no comment on the quality of the mall], some great restaurants, etc. yet small enough to where people's social circles often overlap.  Best of all, this city has some great gems hidden amongst the rocks.  And by gems, I mean people.  There are people here who love unconditionally, live whole-heartedly, and pursue the Lord relentlessly.  And if you ask me, that is worth 100 times more than breath-taking landscape or a hip night life.


I am 25 years old.  The last 8 of those years have been lived in Bryan/College Station, Texas.

Let's do quick math, people.  That's a little over 1/3 of my entire life.

Yes, I realize I am still ridiculously young and have so many years left to live ...and will probably live in so many other places... probably for even longer than 8 years.  So yes, I realize that this entire post may seem dramatic.  What can I say?  Maybe I should have invested my time in theatre growing up instead of soccer.  [There are zero perks as an adult knowing how to kick a soccer ball correctly.  Unless you play professionally and get paid to do that kind of thing.  I checked our bank account last night and sadly there was no income listed as "professional soccer player".]

As I was saying...

B/CS hosted the seasons of my life as I transitioned from a baby 17 year old to adulthood.  To be honest, I can barely label myself as an adult without laughing.  But for the sake of our story, let's go ahead with the technical term "adulthood" because I am over the age of 18... or 21 ... or whatever age 'merica deems as an adult these days.

I moved to this town filled with dreams to live internationally, ambitions to save the world - one social justice issue at a time, and a disdain for traditional education.  Yep.  I was that girl who sat in college classes, rolling my eyes at "useless" information, walking barefoot around campus looking for the next fundraiser to benefit children in Africa.

Proof: "Displace Me" Event 2007

(yes- that's Juliette)

My sophomore year of college, I began attending Community Church.  This group of people so graciously embraced me, all of my unrealistic desires to bring peace and justice to the entire universe, and my naive views of life.  More specifically, older women welcomed me into their homes and showed me the ins and outs of daily life as an adult.  We talked while folding laundry, washing dishes, changing diapers... you know, the fun things in life.  I will treasure those times forever.  Truly, forever.  These women listened to my college drama and would gently guide me to solutions.  They were honest with me about their own struggles, whether it was in their marriage, as a parent, in friendships... their vulnerability eternally impacted me.  Because of their open homes, I felt so much more prepared to be a wife and a mother and overall, to be an adult.  Some people grow up and are surprised by all the mundane things about adulthood.  I am so thankful I was able to see these things in my early college years, throw a fit about them, and then embrace my future with some foresight about reality.  

These are the same people who walked with me through dating, engagement, and marriage to Otha.  Dating someone you don't know very well who is moving to Africa for the majority of your relationship? No problem, we will help you do this well.  

These are the same people who let me cry on their couch when I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with Asher.  They cast no judgement when I was not completely excited about the new baby in my womb.  They also lovingly came along side me when I embraced pregnancy and helped me prepare for the new member of our family.  

These are the same people who walked through the entire foster care process with us.  Newly married couple with a baby wanting to do foster care?  Great, we will help you.  Took in a child with extreme medical needs?  Let us support you.  Let us take care of Asher while you are in Houston.  Let us come visit you all the time in the hospital, while you sit with this baby who is not even yours.  That doesn't matter to us.  Malia is part of our family too.  

The people who are part of this community are unlike any other collective group I have ever met.  The more you reveal your ugliness and brokenness, the closer they draw you in and the more love and grace they pour out on you.  I have never, ever seen this church give anyone the stiff arm.  Anyone is welcome- the sinner, the outcast, the lame, the poor, the rich, the needy, the criminal, the drug addict, the prostitute, the regular ol' boring individual, anyone.  They live life like Jesus, in the best way that they can.  What's even more beautiful is that they are marked with humility and consistently asking the Lord to show them how to live out the Gospel.  

Somewhere in the midst of doing life with these people, I changed.  I was no longer looking for the next big Africa fundraising event or throwing up in my mouth a little when I thought about my college education.  Somehow I began, so very slowly, prioritizing the people in my own home and community.  By nothing short of a miracle, I began fostering thankfulness in my heart for my education and the empowering opportunity of attending a university.  There are over 1,000 ways I have changed over the past 8 years, all of which I still have a long ways to go.  I am glad to say that I still deeply care for international affairs, for impoverished people, and for practical skills like trade school > college.  But these passions are also now paired with some wisdom, tangible vision, and some adult years under my belt.  I never want to stop dreaming and reaching for the impossible.  However, I want to accomplish these things with Otha by my side and my kids holding my hands learning from every step.  What a shame it would be if my 18 year old self lunged forward in life to pursue dreams and left her husband and kids on the curb.

These have been transformative years in Bryan/College Station:  I graduated with a degree in Sociology from Texas A&M, married the most incredible man, bought out first home, added two kids to our family, and experienced a richness in life that I did not know even existed.  

Thank you Bryan/College Station for some of the most difficult and best times of my life.  It's been fun.  I would say "let's do it again, sometime"... but I am pretty sure Otha is ready to wave goodbye to you for the last time.  [Remember that time Otha and I moved to Austin right after we got married... and then came right back here a month and a half later? Good times.]  You will forever be remembered as the city where I grew up. 

Added bonus: A picture from each year in B/CS

2006.  One of my first Aggie Football Games with my long lost twin, Lindsey.  True story- people confused us at her wedding.  At.  Her. Wedding.  We were both wearing jackets, so it was somewhat acceptable because the jacket was covering part of her wedding dress.

  

2007.  This is a picture taken right after myself and a group of friends from ASSIST got dots tattooed on our ankles.  I kid you not.  I now have a blue dot on the inside of my left ankle... just like Lisa Sandoval, Tara Clifton, and Jo Blythe.  Bringing you down with me, ladies.

2008.  Juliette, my social justice partner from previously in this blog post, drove us to hear Shane Claiborne speak.  He was unexpectedly a giant.  

2009.  Allie and I being roommates.  And best friends.  Did I mention Allie and I have lived in the same city as each other for 12 years?? And that ends Sunday.  It's the worst.

2010.  Otha and I got engaged... and married... and pregnant.  We are efficient people.

2011.  We met this little guy.

2012.  We had the Marions, Lisa, and Michelle living with us.  The Jumonvilles and Bechtolds were within walking distance.  It was the best.

2013.  Malia defeated the odds and turned 1 year old!!  

 2014.  Our kids grew.  And they were adorable. 

Finally.

On Wednesday, May 14th we will finalize our daughter's adoption.   <---- should I just end it there?

Probably.  But I will keep writing.  Read on brave souls...

This is the equivalent to me writing out Asher's birth story.  Eh... or something like that.  


I am currently sitting on the couch in our living room where I sat and signed papers on December 4th, 2012 stating that I would be Malia's care-taker until further notice.

It seemed at that time that she would not be staying in our home for long.  The day of her placement we received several calls before CPS even brought her to our door, saying that she had siblings in foster care and she would be placed with them instead.  However, the siblings' foster family was under investigation at the time, so we would be Malia's placement until the investigation was over.

CPS informed us at the beginning of 2013 that they would be moving Malia to live with her siblings on Friday, January 18th.  So that week I pack up her belongings, cry like a baby, then emotionally shut myself off from her.  Thursday evening rolls around and her CPS worker calls us saying the paperwork was not processed in time, therefore he would come get Malia on January 22nd instead.  Seriously?!  I had already become emotionally numb towards this little baby and I was supposed to be her mom over the weekend too?  And it was a three day weekend for crying out loud.  Obviously, I was very mature about the entire situation.

Monday comes.  I cry again.  I pack her things up again, knowing she is leaving the next morning.  Then Monday afternoon she doesn't drink much of her bottle.  By 7pm Monday night, she refuses all food, becomes limp, lethargic, pale, and cold.  So we take her to the Emergency Room and it felt like an out of body experience.  When we handed her to the nurse who does an initial evaluation at the front desk, the nurse took her temperature then scooped Malia up in the blink of an eye and rushed back to where the ER patient rooms are.  She kept saying: "I have a very sick baby! I need help now!" Then the rest was a blur.  Otha and I watched as medical staff rushed in, intubated her, and saved her life.  Within hours, Malia and I were on a plane to Texas Children's Hospital.

There I was with a very, very sick child... who was under my care... who I had already said goodbye to, twice... in the ICU in Houston.  What?!?  Meanwhile, we are on the phone with CPS asking if her new foster parents will be coming to the hospital to take over or if Malia transitioning homes will not happen anymore.  Yes- she will still move homes.  But not until she is out of the hospital.  So be her parents while she is in Houston, but once she is discharged from the hospital, she will also be discharged from your care.  What the what? I will not even go into the conversations we had with the foster parents of her siblings during those two weeks.  The excuses they had for not coming to see her in the hospital were terrible... and terribly alarming.

ALL THAT TO SAY- she was supposed to leave our home, but instead her body tried to die instead.


She gets discharged from Texas Children's a few weeks later.  CPS decides that Malia's cardiologist will just need to clarify that she is "stable enough to move homes" at her next follow up appointment in March.  Between discharge and follow up appointments, Malia is sick.  All. The. Time.  People could hear her breathing in the other room.  The weekend before her follow up appointment, I pack her bags again, cry again, and emotionally distance myself again.  I take her to the appointment and the cardiologist says:  She is a very sick baby and needs to be admitted into the hospital.  And before he signs papers to admit her, I explain the situation and ask him if he can decide whether she is stable enough to move homes.  He says - yes, I don't see why she couldn't change foster parents right now.  I ask him to put it in writing.  He says he is too busy, just ask the cardiologist in the inpatient unit to do it.

After Malia is settled into her hospital room, I ask the other cardiologist the same question and he says - no, she is not stable enough to move homes.  Um... excuse me?  Ok, can I get that in writing? A few hours later, he hands me a letter to fax CPS saying that Malia is medically unstable to transition homes at that time.  Otha and I then spend hours on the phone with CPS, our foster agency, and Malia's lawyer's assistant telling them that if they have plans to move Malia after she is discharged, then her new foster parents need to be at the hospital too learning about Malia's conditions, medications, etc.  Back and forth, back and forth.  Finally the lawyer decides Malia will stay with us.  Her situation trumps the priority to keep siblings in foster care together, for better or for worse.

ALL THAT TO SAY -  she was supposed to leave our home again, but her primary cardiologist was too busy to write a letter.

We sat by Malia's bedside for weeks and weeks in March and April, not sure if she was going to live.  I begged God to heal her.  We shed so many tears, thinking we were going to lose this precious girl because her body was just not strong enough.  Then God did heal her.  It was beautiful and miraculous and we took her home with us, unpacking all of her belongings again.


At that point, we knew that unless Malia's biological parents fulfilled their court appointed services, Malia would be with us forever.  Happy Ever After, right?

Wrong.

Summer came.  And my immaturity struck again.  What if something crazy happens and she doesn't stay with us?  I don't want to be that foolish foster parent who gets comfortable and attached and becomes a wreck when the unexpected happens!  These were real thoughts people.  I could not even call her Malia, even though that's what we decided we would change her name to when we finalized her adoption.  I could not commit to something unpredictable.

So then I felt disconnected from Malia.  Really, really disconnected.  I spent hours thinking through people who could adopt her instead of us... because those people could really love her like she deserves.  Those people have bleeding hearts without guards, walls, and moats to protect them from potential pain that comes from love.  I was basically saying that I wanted her out of my life before I got hurt.

[When people tell me how selfless I am for doing foster care, I want to laugh.  Does the paragraph above sound selfless?   Selfishness to protect myself ruled my world that summer.]

Then in mid July, Malia's body tried to shut down again.  We moved into Texas Children's Hospital again.  And it was this hospital stay that God did more healing, but this time in me.  He healed my heart of so much anxiety, fear, selfishness, and a million other things that prohibited me from loving Malia 100%.  As much as those two months were terrible, watching Malia struggle for life once more, those months brought so much life to my soul.  It was the first time I really recognized myself as her mom and wanted to advocate for her as my daughter, not just my foster daughter.

In all that time, people were helping us raise Asher, counseling me through my brokenness, and holding our family together.  Seriously, I cannot think about Malia's life so far and not think about the incredible community who truly did life with us during our hardest year ever.  Those were some of the darkest times of my life, yet I never felt alone.

There were also a few months during the fall where we thought we would be adopting Malia's two siblings as well.  The foster family that Malia was supposed to move in with initially, lost their foster license.  So we are extra thankful that Malia was never moved into their home.

When I reflect on our journey the past 18 months with Malia, I am overwhelmed by God's grace and patience for me.  I was an eager 24 year old wanting to save the orphan and passionately throwing myself into being a foster parent.  And it destroyed me. In the best ways.  My love alone was not enough.  My passion for helping those in need was not enough.  My pride in not wanting to be vulnerable and get hurt like the average foster parent was not enough.  My experience working with families from hard places was not enough.  I, myself, was not enough for the task.  I jumped into an ocean of foster care and I was barely keeping my head above water.  Yet, God saved me.  Not in a way that he just took me out of the water.  He graciously taught me how to swim... how to depend on him and how to love Malia whole-heartedly with full abandon.  He taught me how to risk everything for another person, in the same way that he gave up himself for us.  He taught me how to be a mother in a whole new way.

I am a different person because of the past 18 months.  It's truly been life-changing.  So life-changing that we are going "in-active" with our foster care license for awhile.  I am exhausted.

Our next big adventure is moving to Fort Worth the beginning of June.  We are excited to live close to an amazing children's hospital for Malia and to be close to my parents as well.

 I'm sure I will write a sappy blog about how much I love Bryan, TX though.  So don't worry, that's coming soon.

But first, I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Malia Catherine Graham:

Heeeelp

I am going to ask you to donate money.




Ok, so for those of you who have chosen to keep reading- Hello.

There are two events coming up that I am participating in, both of which I would like to raise money for.

Event #1:  5th Annual World Record Event for Mercy Project.  

Mercy Project was established by a couple at my church who have a passion for ending modern day slavery.  The focus of Mercy Project is to free children who have been trafficked into the fishing industry on Lake Volta in Ghana.  How, you ask?  Mercy Project partners with fishing villages by teaching them aquaculture, replacing the need for child labor.  This is not something that just works in theory.  This is really happening.  Mercy Project has successfully transitioned two villages from using child slaves to using fishing cages.  You can read more here:  mercyproject.net

Over the past few years, Mercy Project has done some fundraising by breaking Guinness World Records.  This year the goal is to run a 24 hour mile relay.  A what?  Individuals will run one mile, back to back, passing a baton off to the next runner each time... for 24 hours.  Both Otha and I will be running during this 24 hour extravaganza on April 4-5th and we are pumped!  I'm super excited to do something I love while raising money, awareness, and promoting real change for kids in Ghana.  Otha and I both are committed to raise money for this event.  If you feel inspired, you can donate  here and be sure to put either Otha or my name for the participant you are supporting.


Event #2:  March of Dimes

As many of you know, I work for an incredible fitness organization called Fit4Mom.  It's my favorite.  Some mamas from our Bryan/College Station Franchise will be participating in a March for Babies walk on April 27th.  March of Dimes supports research and programs that help moms have full-term pregnancies.  The funds are also used to support families who have a baby in the newborn intensive care unit.

In past years I thought, "I don't know if I have time for one more thing in our schedule.  I am not very connected to this thing."  But then we added Malia to our family.  She was born at 32 weeks gestation and was a tiny little thing struggling to survive.  I had multiple strangers ask me around town if I had a doll in my baby carrier.  1. I don't know why I would carry a doll in a Moby Wrap.  2. I will give them the benefit of the doubt because she was SO SMALL.  There have been multiple times in her life that I that wondered what her health would be like if she had been born full term.  I know what it's like to have a premature baby and I know what it's like to have that tiny baby in an ICU.  And both are less than ideal.  Please join me in decreasing the number of premature births and helping support those parents with little ones struggling in the NICU.  You can donate here.


Thank you for your support!!

In other news... the little humans I spend my time with get cuter every day.

Over and out.

Oh 2013, We will never have a year quite like you.

It's the end of the year, folks.  Traditionally, I have taken time during Christmas break at my parent's house to digest the past year.  This Christmas, however, I don't want to spend my time in Keller processing such a crazy year.  Mainly, I just don't want to cry for 10 days straight.  I instead want to play board games, eat puppy chow, and hope someone else cleans up Asher's poop if he doesn't make it to the potty.

So here I am today beginning to rummage through my thoughts of year 2013.

When Asher was born, a nurse asked something like, "Are you the dad?" and Otha had this incredible moment of stepping forward and thinking, "Oh, dang- that's me!  I am a dad!".  Obviously no one asked who was Asher's mom.  There was only one lady in the room laying on a bed, who had just delivered a placenta, and looked like she just went to war with fatigue and pain... and that was me.  When the nurse handed me Asher for the first time, I thought my heart would explode right then and there.  I felt this instant connection and deep love and 1,000 emotions all occurring inside of me at once.

I share that little bit, to then say: I did not feel that same connection with Malia (name we shall use for our foster daughter since we cannot use her real name on the internet and such).

Otha and I had countless conversations the first few weeks and months that Malia was in our home about whether we "felt like she was ours".  It sounds silly now, but back then it seemed important.  I had heard so many families who had adopted, either private adoption or through foster care, say that they just knew when a kid was theirs.  1) I do not like that terminology.  2) This made us very confused and try to read into our emotions way too much.  I am absolutely not discounting what these other families felt or saying that they were wrong!  Truly, I wish I would have had a deep, wonderful feeling when CPS brought Malia to our front door... or at least something equivalent to what I felt when the nurse handed me Asher for the first time.  But instead, I kept searching for something to click in order for us to know whether we would adopt her or not.

I wish I had kept count of how many times I have been asked in regards to Malia:  "Are you her mom?".  Probably the first 152 times I was asked, I would trip over my words and say things like: Well, no... uh, but yea, kind of... it's complicated... she is in foster care... I am her mom... but not her biological mom.  It was just uncomfortable for everyone.  My answer then became more concise over time:  I am her foster mom.

Then somewhere in the midst of sitting by her bedside in the ICU when she was sick and rocking her to sleep at home when she was healthy, I began to answer that question with: Yes, I am her mom.  

I could end the blog post here and pretend that it's a happy ending that I now identify myself as her mom.  But it's just not that simple.

I do identify myself as her mom now.  Malia sees me as her mom in every way that her young mind knows how to process provision and love right now.  People that we know identify me as Malia's mom now.  And all of those things are wonderful and heart-warming.  But there is a disconnect between the moment Malia was born and where she is today.  I will choose to believe that when Malia was born, her biological mom had this amazing feeling inside her heart when she saw her daughter for the first time.  And I choose to believe that her biological mom has an innate unconditional love for Malia... because she is her mom.  But for various reasons, Malia's biological mom was not given the responsibility to raise Malia.

 So then I enter the picture, trying to muster up a love that matches the love a mom has for her biological child.  And I fell short.  Every time.  I struggled through the beginning of this year, trying to feel something identical to what I feel for Asher.  Guilt, fear, anger, and confusion swirled inside of me every day as I tried to identify and sort through exactly what my love for Malia should look like and wondering why Otha made it look so easy and seamless.  Then a wise woman who counseled me though my darkest times this year explained to me:  I am just part of the redemption process.  My love for Asher would probably look similar even if I was not a Christian.  It's a natural thing inside of me to care for a child from my womb.  But adoption, that requires a new level of dependency on the Lord.  I have to look to the Lord and ask for love and understanding of Malia that I do not naturally have.

Don't get me wrong- I love this little girl to the moon and back.  But my love for her is different than I have ever experienced before.  It's not more or less than my love for Asher.  It's not better or worse.  It's just different.  And the moment I stopped trying to figure it out on my own and instead plead for help from the Lord, I felt a beautiful layer of love for her that I never could have imagined.  Expectations can wither my heart if I am not careful.  I had expectations to love Malia instantly and fully the moment she came to our home.  But I had to learn to throw those expectations away and have a blank canvas for what our relationship would look like.  It took time... and I love efficiency, so a slow process of anything is not my favorite.  But it seems like the best things take a lot of time.

In the scheme of mothering Malia, it's still not just about me.  The moment I received news that Malia's foster case was complete and we would now enter the adoption process, I cried.  It did not take me long to realize that my tears were not just tears of joy.  They were tears of sorrow.  I wept for a good hour that afternoon then off and on for several days.  I cried because I was so incredibly sad that Malia's biological mother would be missing out on the beautiful little girl that Malia is and the beautiful woman she will become.  I grieved on behalf of Malia that she would not have the opportunity to grow up with the woman who gave birth to her.  I sobbed for the brokenness of the situation and so many situations like it happening every day.

We are relieved and excited to have made it through a crazy year and to be legally adding Malia to our family in the coming months.  But we do not want to take lightly that our gain is someone else's loss.  So before you congratulate us on beginning the adoption process or say how great it is for Malia to be in such a loving family, please know the joy we feel is a result of a journey of pain for others.  Because in the end, if someone asks both myself and Malia's biological mother: "Are you her mom?" we can both legitimately say: Yes, I am her mom.  Just only one of us gets the chance to raise her.

Lesson learned from 2013: things are not as black and white as I want them to be.  Ever.  Things are not what I expect them to be.  Ever.  And both of these things are probably for the best.

"I'm just a penny on the train track, waitin' for my judgement day..."

You know why I love this picture?  It's cute.  And we are young and in love.

You know why else I love this picture?  Because we are walking on a train track.  Boldly.  Hand in hand.  You know what comes on train tracks?  Trains.  We are walking into the abyss as if to say "Bring it on, Train.  We are going to keep walking this path even if you come.  Even if we get flattened, we are going to keep walking forward."

That's how my life feels right now.  It feels like Otha and I grabbed each other's hand and decided to walk the track of foster care, following God's call in our life.

And we have been hit by trains.

Multiple trains.

Our little one is back in the hospital.  Again.  Round three.  Her body is fragile, mirroring the fragility of my emotions.  As she physically struggles, I struggle to cope with the unknown that we have invited into our life.

I want to step off the track to process our new life.  I want to scream "I need more time to figure out how to mother this little one who came to our family so unconventionally!".  I want to sit and pout like a two year old.  But there is no time for that.  We are pushed forward by a calling to fiercely love this tiny girl.

I wish I could take another "train track" picture, but one reflecting the state of our life right now.   Imagine tattered clothes, dirt, blood, and bruises covering my body, and a serious limp...mmm, like a double limp... and my hair is torn... and I am missing an arm (my left arm, so I can still hold Otha's hand with my right arm)... too much?  You get the picture?  You would look at the picture and say- "Those gross, nearly-dead people got hit by a train, and they are still walking on the obviously dangerous train track.  Crazies."

You are right.  We are crazy.  But I would not go back in time and make a different decision.  This has by far been the most challenging season of my life, yet the most rewarding.  The kind of rewarding where the Lord comforts me in the darkness where I am sobbing and questioning His plans.  Where I learn to receive from the Lord and others because I have absolutely nothing to give, nothing.  Where I have to face the ugliest parts of my soul, and still somehow believe that the Lord loves me unconditionally.  I am experiencing kingdom life, or in the words of my dear friend Lisa... Real life. The kind of life that sometimes (always) looks like dying.

And that's how it feels- like dying.  Like getting hit by train after train.

Yet we still move forward because the Lord is good.  And He gives life.

If I hear one more person say "I could never do what y'all are doing, that's way too hard", I may or may not punch them in the face.  We are not super heroes.  We are not endowed with special foster care parenting abilities.  We did not run out of all other easy life options and foster care was the only option left.  Did you not just hear how I am bruised and bloody and broken??  I cry all the time.  I wrestle through horrible thoughts and emotions everyday.

Just because something is hard doesn't mean it shouldn't be done.  The true, life-giving kingdom can be found in the most uncomfortable and challenging places.  I am not saying: everyone should do foster care.  I am saying: don't avoid what the Lord is calling you to do because you are scared.  As I have learned all too well the past nine months, fear is a terrible companion when trying to follow the Spirit. So kick fear in the gut and really ask the Lord what He wants from you.  

Then grab the hands of your people.  Step on that train track.  And walk into the unknown, for that's where real life is waiting for you.

Our People

Our foster daughter is in the hospital...again.  We have been here for three solid weeks.  Due to legal boundaries, I cannot give any more information about what hospital, what she is diagnosed with, etc. all you need to know is that we are not in Bryan for this ordeal.

What I really want to talk about is how we signed up everyone in our life for foster care when Otha and I said "yes" to taking in kids through the foster system.  It seemed like a decision that just affected our family.  Boy, was I wrong!  We truly committed our entire community to doing foster care with us.  And I cry thankful tears that none of them have protested, complained about new burdens to help us carry, or flat out punched us in the face for making their own lives busier.

Our family and church community did not begin participating after we received our first placement, they dove in months before that.  Who watched Asher during the twelve nights we did foster care certification classes?  Who logged a lot of hours putting our house together to help us pass all of our house inspections?  Who filled out recommendations and sat through interviews to prove that the Grahams would not murder foster children?  The most annoying of all the tasks, who had to get the impossible fingerprints done and deal with worst-mood-ever-fingerprinting-receptionist? (special shout-out to the Marions and Lisa; Michelle you got lucky). Our family and community.  They have been there since step one and have not skipped a beat since.

Fast forward almost a year since we began the process and we are still continually surprised and overwhelmed by everyone's love and support.  Otha sent out an email asking for people to watch Asher all week while Otha is at work and I am at the hospital; within 24 hours every single hour was covered.  One dear friend made me a CD of songs that spoke to a part of my soul that had previously been filled with hopelessness and confusion.  People gave us a crazy amount of money to cover expenses like hospital parking ($12 bucks a day!  Who wants to run for mayor and get that changed?), food, and gas.  We are staying with a friend's parents for free and have multiple other offers of free lodging offers.  Two moms traded days watching each others' kids so that they could each come visit me.  Another friend drove down just to watch Asher for a few hours so that Otha and I could be at the hospital together.  My mom spent a whole week here so that I could spend time with both Asher and our daughter.  We have received many phone calls and emails from people encouraging us, some whom we don't even know very well.  That is a small fraction of the ways people have come around us and said with their actions "we will do foster care with you".

Needless to say, we have been taken care of on all levels.  I don't have many tears left after these few  weeks, but I never fail to tear up when I reflect on how people have loved us.  Sure, we believe in taking care of the orphan, but more importantly so does our community.  We believe suffering comes with following Jesus; our community believes they should function as the Body of Christ and carry each others burdens and suffer as one.  We believe that God can heal our little girl and thus our people pray incessantly for her.  They do not treat her or our situation any differently because she is in the foster system or because she technically is not "ours".  They are treating us with the same fierce love that they would have if it was their own flesh and blood.  One day, I hope to tell this little girl 
how deeply she was loved by this group of people when she was struggling for her life, the deepest love she could ever imagine.  And it's all an outpouring of their love for Jesus.  

If you don't have a community of people like that around you, you are missing out.  

I am thankful that everyone said "yes" with us to be foster parents, whether we actually asked them or not.  By committing to our community, we commited to support each other through joy and suffering for the sake of the gospel.   I can only hope to follow everyones example and say "yes" with my actions to others people's journey of spreading the kingdom.