So, we have another "big" week-end ahead of us. My English friends are renewing their vows for their 15th wedding anniversary. I applaud them. we waited until 25 years and I really don't know why. Their goal was to re-new every five years and they missed the 10th because of the recession, cost etc. You know, these days you can't always ask someone to BYO, (bring your own), and even if you do, many don't, they expect you to provide. In a changing economy, running a Dance, theatre Academy is risky at the very least. A lot of people have decided these extra curricular things are the cream that needs to be skimmed from the top, and they have. But, they have survived, through sheer hard work, and belief in what they are doing for the community. My children have thrived in this environment, and I have seen them come into their own, in gaining confidence speaking, acting, and dancing in front of an audience. This may seem trivial, but, as we grow up we need to be able to be confident to speak out, and not be afraid to do so.
So with the big adventure, my friend has decided to sew her own dress, which she has on two occasions before, and on many occasions when tutu's or waistcoats, or any other costume you name has to be made. She is also teaching from 9a.m. until 3.p.m. every day with theme camps at her studio, as well as running a house that has three, hungry children awaiting selections from the kitchen daily. So, understanding her dilemma, I have an extra three again tonight. After three nights of excitement on some degree or another, I have ruled the 9.30p.m. bedtime, because, 7.00a.m comes way too soon for me, especially when Rog is in Vegas.
I am sure my multi symptom kid has not taken her medicine properly in the last couple of adventurous nights sleeping over and having her very best friends over twice in one week, so that adds to the excitement as well as the younger three having done three hours of ballet twice in one week, repeating for the next two days, complaining of sore muscles, and aches and pains caused from returning to ballet. Then, Dustin, had to return to the Doctor today after having an asthma attack a couple of days ago to be given some more medicine and not a clear outcome. I, personally, think he may be having panic attacks coming out of the frying pan he has been in with Isaiah for the last few years. I am at this very moment putting that theory into action, and I already suspect I am right. Adrenalin out of control is a scary thing and can do weird things.
On top of all that, the adventure for the twelve kids tonight was to put the chickens to bed. One is up a tree, or somewhere, scared to death of so many willing caretakers! Dustin and Devin have stayed up to find it and put it to bed. Chickens have taught me many sayings are true. Spring chicken? Well chicks are only born in the spring. Chickens come home to roost? Yes, extremely true, so creamy chicken is really upset right now. And my ducks? Well they really quack me up. But, the eggs are delicious, and they all, the ducks and the chickens, have personalities, and names I might add. I am so lucky to be blessed with such a diverse life. The success overwhelms the failures, and I still believe that if you never try, then you can never succeed.
And, Rog, beware, after this week-end I may want to do the whole re-new thing again at thirty five years. We are coming up to thirty three amazing, unforgetable years, where I almost think that each year is special, and then I remember Heidi and Seal, and go, oh, ah, what. But I guess I am not that extravagant or assuming, but only want to remember daily what a special relationship I have with my one of a kind husband.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Finally!
It has been a really busy summer in our house, of course with nine kids at home what else can you expect, but, the demands on my time have seemed greater than usual. We have been waiting for the "go ahead" on Job Corps for Isaiah, and that has been put on hold for a couple of months, as well as my cd about the children and their stories, and the video, moved into action. The video was a hard choice for me, but in the end, I chose the song about Isaiah. He has been the one who has struggled possibly the most, at least emotionally, and still faces living in survival mode from day to day.
Just as I think we make progress, we go back a couple of paces, then gingerly look at whether to put another foot out. I think this has been the biggest challenge in my history of fostering and adoption. Emotional problems are elusive at best, while physical ones present themselves in the light of day, with many options to overcome. Whether Isaiah can overcome them is yet to be determined. I hope and pray every day he will, and each time he goes forward for prayer, I feel there is another dent made in the wall that surrounds him. In fact, there isn't one wall, there are many layers.
Last night was a spontaneous night for us, which is not rare, after all we are Australian, and our English friends, who have a marvelous dance and acting studio which all of my kids attend, rolled up bringing our two home who had been helping over the summer with the office, and kids etc, with the pleading request that the kids all have a swim and sleepover. Well when you have nine, what's another three? Just more breakfast! The catch was my sweetheart was leaving for Vegas at six, and they were all being picked up to go to the studio by 7.30.a.m., so it was an adventure in the making. My reason for telling this is, that my friends are black English people that Isaiah looks up to, and he was childishly excited that their two boys were staying the night. The sad part was, my youngest boy, Zach, is also bi-racial and the three of them have this tight "brother" relationship, which because of the ages, Isaiah is not part of, not for any bad reasons, just the age difference and the interests that the three younger ones share.
It was a reminder to me of how damaged this young man, of sixteen and one half years, is and probably will be for some time. It saddened me to see him on the front porch this morning trying to relate to three young boys that were much younger and less mature, just because of their color and race. It also pointed out to me the desperate need he feels to fit into this society and has not a lot of ability in knowing how to. I am such a "fix it" person, but I cannot fix this. This is a long journey because of past abuse, lack of education, and such a need to survive one day at a time.
I have mentioned previously that an article has been written about Isaiah, and his other Liberian brother and sisters with regard to the abuse suffered at the hand of their previous family, well, it is finally here. It will be published and within the next few weeks I believe. I hope justice prevails, although, I know that works in strange ways. I hope I get the opportunity to put my "two bob's" worth in, because I think it is more that 20cents, in American money, it is a price I could not fathom because of the depths of pain, suffering, mis-trust, lack of guidance and parental input that the two children I have taken into my family have been affected by.
I do not know the outcome of their lives, but I hope, that I have at least stepped up to the plate and been a real mother, not a friend, or an abuser, not someone who, because they have difficulty caring for me, to turn away and forget they exist, but a Christ minded person who thinks about What Would Jesus Do? I know that's a cliché, but there is truth there as well. If I didn't think like that, I would not have survived the last three years and neither would have my family. I am immensely proud of the fact that all of my other kids, young and older, have been supportive and have not only tried with these kids, but loved them, and ultimately tried to understand what they have been through. Not an easy task, but then, I have amazing kids, and that includes Isaiah and CeCe who continue to strive towards the goal even though they have no idea what that is. I hope, I pray, that I can teach them, and encourage them towards what God had in store for them.
The article that I have spoken about is being published soon. A five thousand word article that I hope is freeing and informative. I am eternally grateful for my friend, for her passion and dedication to put her heart and voice into exposing the exploitation of children. I will let you know when it is being published, I only have tentative dates right now. Also, my book, or novel based on the truth is finished,. On that I shall also tell you when, and how to get a copy. Here is a link to my cd that is not quite released yet, but, go have a listen. For me this is not about sales, it is about information so that we are not ignorant of what is happening in our back yard. Please listen to the stories, that's all I ask. If you click on music you will be able to hear four tracks, the first one is the one I wrote for Isaiah, and also the video.
EPK link: http://www.tatemusicgroup.com/epk/?id=17950
Just as I think we make progress, we go back a couple of paces, then gingerly look at whether to put another foot out. I think this has been the biggest challenge in my history of fostering and adoption. Emotional problems are elusive at best, while physical ones present themselves in the light of day, with many options to overcome. Whether Isaiah can overcome them is yet to be determined. I hope and pray every day he will, and each time he goes forward for prayer, I feel there is another dent made in the wall that surrounds him. In fact, there isn't one wall, there are many layers.
Last night was a spontaneous night for us, which is not rare, after all we are Australian, and our English friends, who have a marvelous dance and acting studio which all of my kids attend, rolled up bringing our two home who had been helping over the summer with the office, and kids etc, with the pleading request that the kids all have a swim and sleepover. Well when you have nine, what's another three? Just more breakfast! The catch was my sweetheart was leaving for Vegas at six, and they were all being picked up to go to the studio by 7.30.a.m., so it was an adventure in the making. My reason for telling this is, that my friends are black English people that Isaiah looks up to, and he was childishly excited that their two boys were staying the night. The sad part was, my youngest boy, Zach, is also bi-racial and the three of them have this tight "brother" relationship, which because of the ages, Isaiah is not part of, not for any bad reasons, just the age difference and the interests that the three younger ones share.
It was a reminder to me of how damaged this young man, of sixteen and one half years, is and probably will be for some time. It saddened me to see him on the front porch this morning trying to relate to three young boys that were much younger and less mature, just because of their color and race. It also pointed out to me the desperate need he feels to fit into this society and has not a lot of ability in knowing how to. I am such a "fix it" person, but I cannot fix this. This is a long journey because of past abuse, lack of education, and such a need to survive one day at a time.
I have mentioned previously that an article has been written about Isaiah, and his other Liberian brother and sisters with regard to the abuse suffered at the hand of their previous family, well, it is finally here. It will be published and within the next few weeks I believe. I hope justice prevails, although, I know that works in strange ways. I hope I get the opportunity to put my "two bob's" worth in, because I think it is more that 20cents, in American money, it is a price I could not fathom because of the depths of pain, suffering, mis-trust, lack of guidance and parental input that the two children I have taken into my family have been affected by.
I do not know the outcome of their lives, but I hope, that I have at least stepped up to the plate and been a real mother, not a friend, or an abuser, not someone who, because they have difficulty caring for me, to turn away and forget they exist, but a Christ minded person who thinks about What Would Jesus Do? I know that's a cliché, but there is truth there as well. If I didn't think like that, I would not have survived the last three years and neither would have my family. I am immensely proud of the fact that all of my other kids, young and older, have been supportive and have not only tried with these kids, but loved them, and ultimately tried to understand what they have been through. Not an easy task, but then, I have amazing kids, and that includes Isaiah and CeCe who continue to strive towards the goal even though they have no idea what that is. I hope, I pray, that I can teach them, and encourage them towards what God had in store for them.
The article that I have spoken about is being published soon. A five thousand word article that I hope is freeing and informative. I am eternally grateful for my friend, for her passion and dedication to put her heart and voice into exposing the exploitation of children. I will let you know when it is being published, I only have tentative dates right now. Also, my book, or novel based on the truth is finished,. On that I shall also tell you when, and how to get a copy. Here is a link to my cd that is not quite released yet, but, go have a listen. For me this is not about sales, it is about information so that we are not ignorant of what is happening in our back yard. Please listen to the stories, that's all I ask. If you click on music you will be able to hear four tracks, the first one is the one I wrote for Isaiah, and also the video.
EPK link: http://www.tatemusicgroup.com/epk/?id=17950
Monday, July 2, 2012
Divine Appointments
So, in the interest of a new cd about to release, and a music video, as well as a book I am very passionate about, I mustered all I had within me, which wasn't much after 10 loads of laundry, cleaning house, grumpy children, all because of our week of total freedom from all of that at the beach, and then an eight hour drive home, and took myself, as well as Rog, to a supposed open mike at a Tapas Bar in East Cobb, Georgia. My purpose was to "sus" out the open mike, and see if they would accept the songs I would sing here, but, that was my purpose; God had a different one.
The open mike was no longer, a memory of last year because of lack of support, but we soldiered on and felt we would sit at the bar, the most interesting place to sit if you are a people person, order something small, and go home. But, as God would have it, I was never there for the open mike, I was there for the "open heart". The bar tender, as Rog noticed, had no sense of humor, which of course made us even more idiotic than we really are, proving the statement she made later that Monday was the beginning of her week-end. Now I know why she was so grumpy. But, still we held in, ordered, took the usual umpteen dozen phone calls from home, mainly from the Aspergers' kid about who was telling on her, just to have a few minutes on our own, even with interjected conversation with the cell phone.
I have just discovered I am a little gluten intolerant, so I ordered from the GF menu thinking I am getting something delicious. Rog orders something I know is delicious. Mine comes, and I am thinking that they are lying on the menu, but, I have too many manners to complain, so I start a conversation with the woman who is sitting almost next to me at the bar. If you can imagine a corner, well I was on one side of the corner, and she was on the other. I am not sure, mainly because how fast this conversation progressed, as to how we got to the "God" subject so quickly. But, suddenly, I am telling her where we go to church, and what a wonderful church this is in all locations, and then in the midst of ministering to her about an accident with her niece, a marriage that is not on solid ground, and that both her husband and herself are musically inclined, we find common ground, and she realizes that "God" in in the midst of us, in a Tapas Bar.
Well, Jesus never did hang out with the right people, or talk the excepted talk, walk in the ways that he was supposed to, and now, after 2000 odd years we all go, yeah, we get that, but, curses on the people called to do close to the same thing in our day and time. Why is it that we cannot sit in the pew, with the people of God, and receive the message, take it to our hears, and then, God forbid, take it to a bar, either a Tapas bar, or any other for than matter, but proclaim the gospel to the very person who is in dilemma, no matter where they are, or what their circumstance. It is the road I walk, somewhat tenuously, because it is not the road normally travelled. It is the road that is normally condemned.
Before I finish and go to bed which I really should because I am really tired, I will tell a little story that has haunted me for twenty four hours. Yesterday we were driving back from Florida with nine kids, and two dogs, and different temperaments rolling around the car that was just about exhausting my patience, when we needed a bathroom stop, as well as a gas stop. We pulled into a gas station on the wrong side of town, but we couldn't wait any longer so, that was that. As we turned up the side street to have to u-turn back and find the entrance to the gas station, all of us could not ignore an elderly homeless man sitting under a tree on the upper side of the station. My kids all had a nervous giggle, and we explained that he was a homeless person, and obviously an old man, and not to stare because that was rude.
I watered and gave the dogs a restroom stop, then put them back in their crate and started towards the store and restrooms of the gas station. The homeless man was now leaning on the wall about half way up the wall of the station. I had taken the dogs for a walk where he had been sitting under the tree just a few minutes before I had taken their leads off and put them back in their crate, leaving them in Roger's charge as I went to the restroom. This small voice came to me as I saw him, fragile, sunburned, soaked through his clothes with sweat, sipping on a styrofoam cup a with a straw. He looked exhausted, old, and defeated. Tears came to my eyes, and I tried to remind myself that I couldn't give too much money in case he was an addict. It came to me then in an instant as my children were inside the store pondering about which ice-cream they would choose. I turned to my eldest boy with me, and asked if he had some money, I had left mine in the car, and said I wanted to buy the homeless man an ice-cream. Dustin grinned back and said he had thought the same thing. We went to the freezer and chose the best one, he paid for it, and we took it out to the old man. His face broke out in a big smile, and tears came to his eyes, as he said "Thank-you" and told me what cute little dogs I had.
I was broken, as was Dustin, and reminded of our blessings, all and each and every one of them. I was so proud of Dustin for thinking about this old man, who was alone, in the devastating heat, and cared enough to spend his pocket money on a treat. I went in and organized all the kids with their purchases when Rog walked in. I asked him for his wallet, and promptly went outside as the old man was retreating to his place under the tree on the upper side of the station. I handed him the money I felt God had asked me to give, just enough to give him a meal, not enough for drugs or alcohol if they were his demons. His face was radiant, humble, and grateful. Dustin and I have not been so privileged for a very long time. Who knows when there are angels amongst us, or just an old man who had no-one, and needs an ice-cream in 106 degree temperature. God forbid that I would pretend not to see him for the 21st time.
The open mike was no longer, a memory of last year because of lack of support, but we soldiered on and felt we would sit at the bar, the most interesting place to sit if you are a people person, order something small, and go home. But, as God would have it, I was never there for the open mike, I was there for the "open heart". The bar tender, as Rog noticed, had no sense of humor, which of course made us even more idiotic than we really are, proving the statement she made later that Monday was the beginning of her week-end. Now I know why she was so grumpy. But, still we held in, ordered, took the usual umpteen dozen phone calls from home, mainly from the Aspergers' kid about who was telling on her, just to have a few minutes on our own, even with interjected conversation with the cell phone.
I have just discovered I am a little gluten intolerant, so I ordered from the GF menu thinking I am getting something delicious. Rog orders something I know is delicious. Mine comes, and I am thinking that they are lying on the menu, but, I have too many manners to complain, so I start a conversation with the woman who is sitting almost next to me at the bar. If you can imagine a corner, well I was on one side of the corner, and she was on the other. I am not sure, mainly because how fast this conversation progressed, as to how we got to the "God" subject so quickly. But, suddenly, I am telling her where we go to church, and what a wonderful church this is in all locations, and then in the midst of ministering to her about an accident with her niece, a marriage that is not on solid ground, and that both her husband and herself are musically inclined, we find common ground, and she realizes that "God" in in the midst of us, in a Tapas Bar.
Well, Jesus never did hang out with the right people, or talk the excepted talk, walk in the ways that he was supposed to, and now, after 2000 odd years we all go, yeah, we get that, but, curses on the people called to do close to the same thing in our day and time. Why is it that we cannot sit in the pew, with the people of God, and receive the message, take it to our hears, and then, God forbid, take it to a bar, either a Tapas bar, or any other for than matter, but proclaim the gospel to the very person who is in dilemma, no matter where they are, or what their circumstance. It is the road I walk, somewhat tenuously, because it is not the road normally travelled. It is the road that is normally condemned.
Before I finish and go to bed which I really should because I am really tired, I will tell a little story that has haunted me for twenty four hours. Yesterday we were driving back from Florida with nine kids, and two dogs, and different temperaments rolling around the car that was just about exhausting my patience, when we needed a bathroom stop, as well as a gas stop. We pulled into a gas station on the wrong side of town, but we couldn't wait any longer so, that was that. As we turned up the side street to have to u-turn back and find the entrance to the gas station, all of us could not ignore an elderly homeless man sitting under a tree on the upper side of the station. My kids all had a nervous giggle, and we explained that he was a homeless person, and obviously an old man, and not to stare because that was rude.
I watered and gave the dogs a restroom stop, then put them back in their crate and started towards the store and restrooms of the gas station. The homeless man was now leaning on the wall about half way up the wall of the station. I had taken the dogs for a walk where he had been sitting under the tree just a few minutes before I had taken their leads off and put them back in their crate, leaving them in Roger's charge as I went to the restroom. This small voice came to me as I saw him, fragile, sunburned, soaked through his clothes with sweat, sipping on a styrofoam cup a with a straw. He looked exhausted, old, and defeated. Tears came to my eyes, and I tried to remind myself that I couldn't give too much money in case he was an addict. It came to me then in an instant as my children were inside the store pondering about which ice-cream they would choose. I turned to my eldest boy with me, and asked if he had some money, I had left mine in the car, and said I wanted to buy the homeless man an ice-cream. Dustin grinned back and said he had thought the same thing. We went to the freezer and chose the best one, he paid for it, and we took it out to the old man. His face broke out in a big smile, and tears came to his eyes, as he said "Thank-you" and told me what cute little dogs I had.
I was broken, as was Dustin, and reminded of our blessings, all and each and every one of them. I was so proud of Dustin for thinking about this old man, who was alone, in the devastating heat, and cared enough to spend his pocket money on a treat. I went in and organized all the kids with their purchases when Rog walked in. I asked him for his wallet, and promptly went outside as the old man was retreating to his place under the tree on the upper side of the station. I handed him the money I felt God had asked me to give, just enough to give him a meal, not enough for drugs or alcohol if they were his demons. His face was radiant, humble, and grateful. Dustin and I have not been so privileged for a very long time. Who knows when there are angels amongst us, or just an old man who had no-one, and needs an ice-cream in 106 degree temperature. God forbid that I would pretend not to see him for the 21st time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
