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.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Light in Sight
We have been at the beach this week, which in the end turned out much nicer than when it started. We arrived in Panama City to rain and tropical storm Debby who was being very indecisive about what direction she was taking. Then, after vacationing at this apartment for several years, we get informed that we have too many children, we are not within the fire code. Now I respect rules, but I would have liked to know that a few years ago, or at least last year, and not at this moment with waves crashing, wind and rain, along with nine kids holed up in the living room twenty one stories up. Lucky for us, it is a family unit, and a phone call put us back in the car, after repacking of course, and headed west for Sandestin, where we have been ever since with great weather, and sparking water. This is our last day, and although a little windy at the moment, looks to be another beautiful day. I believe it is 105 back in Hotlanta, so I will enjoy the cool breeze while I can.
So apart from getting a tan, (haven't had one of those for years), I also have been writing. I joined another twelve week writing course with the famous Ms.B. or Belinda Smith, who is such a great mentor. So got my first of twelve songs down for the record, and am really close to finishing "Finding Friday". The end of the book has been so hard to write, mainly because I couldn't see "light" at the end of the tunnel. Isaiah has struggled with many things in the last three years, but the hardest for him has been learning to "learn". School has been difficult, from more than one perspective for him. Not only passing grades, but fitting in, finding a place. I mean how many kids is he going to find that have one once of understanding the roller coaster journey he has been on. Even the kids from other countries have been to school, and while their English may not be great, they have basics. Isaiah has so many "holes" in his education that it began to look hopeless in the last few months, that was until his Principal, an amazing woman, suggested Job Corps.
So the paper work is done, and now we are waiting for the call for him to be accepted into the North Carolina Campus where they will help him get his GED, and teach him a trade at the same time. I am praying this all comes to pass for him. This is the best possible outcome for this young man, who struggles to connect and trust in a family setting. He can begin to be his own person and build self confidence, which hopefully will be begin the journey of healing, not only for him, but within the walls of our family, where it has been difficult adjusting to the "loner" in our midst. God is good, there is "light" in sight.
So apart from getting a tan, (haven't had one of those for years), I also have been writing. I joined another twelve week writing course with the famous Ms.B. or Belinda Smith, who is such a great mentor. So got my first of twelve songs down for the record, and am really close to finishing "Finding Friday". The end of the book has been so hard to write, mainly because I couldn't see "light" at the end of the tunnel. Isaiah has struggled with many things in the last three years, but the hardest for him has been learning to "learn". School has been difficult, from more than one perspective for him. Not only passing grades, but fitting in, finding a place. I mean how many kids is he going to find that have one once of understanding the roller coaster journey he has been on. Even the kids from other countries have been to school, and while their English may not be great, they have basics. Isaiah has so many "holes" in his education that it began to look hopeless in the last few months, that was until his Principal, an amazing woman, suggested Job Corps.
So the paper work is done, and now we are waiting for the call for him to be accepted into the North Carolina Campus where they will help him get his GED, and teach him a trade at the same time. I am praying this all comes to pass for him. This is the best possible outcome for this young man, who struggles to connect and trust in a family setting. He can begin to be his own person and build self confidence, which hopefully will be begin the journey of healing, not only for him, but within the walls of our family, where it has been difficult adjusting to the "loner" in our midst. God is good, there is "light" in sight.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Update on Isaiah
As many of you know, we rescued a kid, in fact Isaiah, from a broken adoption some three years ago, when his former family sent him back to Liberia. I cannot tell a lie, this has been a struggle, a hard journey, not only for us, but for him as well. So much so, that I have almost written a book. I am up to nearly 100,000 words and need a final chapter, which, thank you Lord, I now have. While we have tried as a family of eight children at home, four others married with children, and ourselves, parents to all of them, he has struggled with being in a family, let alone trusting parents. His biological mother died in childbirth resulting in his sisters being sent to the orphanage where they would be adopted into the "Great America" and him being kept by his father, only to be rejected by his new "mother" two years later and being sent to the same orphanage. You can see where I am going. His trust in "mothers" was not real great, so by the time he got adopted, rejected, and rescued by me, he didn't have a lot of of belief in parents, or particularly mothers. At least I can say without a doubt from me or him, that our relationship has been real, if not normal. He knows I "get" him. He knows I know he cannot feel much for me or the rest of the kids for that matter, and he knows I hate that for him.
He has what I call "survivor" disorder, where he survives each day entirely one day at a time, not recalling much from yesterday, and waking to survive the new day dawning. On top of that he has post traumatic stress from, mother dying, father leaving, orphanage horror, adoption failing, Africa again with hunger and death, and new family who just look too good to be true. In all of this he disconnected with everyone, was abused, both physically and sexually, an became an abuser himself for a short period, which caused hatred of his own self at the ripe old age of thirteen. I did not survive the last three years without a Savior, Redeemer, and Lord. But, tragically, even though Jesus is all of that to me, Isaiah cannot believe He can be that to him because of his past, and the things he daily does that he cannot understand.
But, in all of this, God is good. He brought Isaiah to us knowing the struggles we both would have and trusted all of us, all eight children at home and four others married with children, to accept, try, believe and hope that Isaiah would come through in the end. Now, I will remind you that our children at home have issues, learning as well as, cerebral palsy, bipolar, Tourettes, Aspergers, ADHD, OCD, and sensory issues beyond your comprehension. I think God has a sense of humor. I have thought many times I would go "under" but my faith in God and his path is more than what I see, that is most of the time. I can't tell how many times I have felt like a missionary where I cannot go to a church service because of duty calling in the field at home, not abroad.
But, thanks to my amazing Principle of our Christian home school, he has been accepted into Job Core, which is a Government program where he will not only get his GED, but, his driving license, up to two trades, and three years in a trade college, with all expenses paid. I am continually amazed, astounded, and thankful for a God who knows what we are going through, from both sides, and see the solution for each. I think this track applies to all children whose wings have been broken and only Jesus can teach them to fly. This is the title track to the album Broken Hearts and Broken Wings played acoustically.
He has what I call "survivor" disorder, where he survives each day entirely one day at a time, not recalling much from yesterday, and waking to survive the new day dawning. On top of that he has post traumatic stress from, mother dying, father leaving, orphanage horror, adoption failing, Africa again with hunger and death, and new family who just look too good to be true. In all of this he disconnected with everyone, was abused, both physically and sexually, an became an abuser himself for a short period, which caused hatred of his own self at the ripe old age of thirteen. I did not survive the last three years without a Savior, Redeemer, and Lord. But, tragically, even though Jesus is all of that to me, Isaiah cannot believe He can be that to him because of his past, and the things he daily does that he cannot understand.
But, in all of this, God is good. He brought Isaiah to us knowing the struggles we both would have and trusted all of us, all eight children at home and four others married with children, to accept, try, believe and hope that Isaiah would come through in the end. Now, I will remind you that our children at home have issues, learning as well as, cerebral palsy, bipolar, Tourettes, Aspergers, ADHD, OCD, and sensory issues beyond your comprehension. I think God has a sense of humor. I have thought many times I would go "under" but my faith in God and his path is more than what I see, that is most of the time. I can't tell how many times I have felt like a missionary where I cannot go to a church service because of duty calling in the field at home, not abroad.
But, thanks to my amazing Principle of our Christian home school, he has been accepted into Job Core, which is a Government program where he will not only get his GED, but, his driving license, up to two trades, and three years in a trade college, with all expenses paid. I am continually amazed, astounded, and thankful for a God who knows what we are going through, from both sides, and see the solution for each. I think this track applies to all children whose wings have been broken and only Jesus can teach them to fly. This is the title track to the album Broken Hearts and Broken Wings played acoustically.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Out with the old.......In with the new
A few months ago I took this intense writing course with Belinda Smith and wrote lots of songs about things I had never thought of before, like writing a song about an object. The object came to me very quickly, but the writing turned in a direction that made me ponder on how we easily discard the old for the new. I wrote about my grandmother's piano, the one that was center stage in her living room which was full of furniture hand carved and crafted by my grandfather. When I was little, I always looked longingly at that piano, and desperately wanted to play it properly, but every time I climbed up on the too large piano seat and put my small hands on the keys, I was very plainly told not to "bang" on grandmother's piano. I didn't think I was banging, but in reality, I probably was, and she loved that piano. Of course part of the fascination for me was that it was not only a piano, but a pianola, which was a version that played music by itself with rolls of old yellowed paper, with holes in it that were the notes, and it rolled around and played magically by itself. I was a very big fan, and my biggest wish was to learn to play those ivory keys. When she died, I never did know where that piano went, but I would have walked a million miles for it to have sat in my living room.
I never did learn as a child, and am still trying to co-ordinate both hands together as an adult. I mastered guitar, I plan to do the same with piano even if I am eighty. As I thought about the piano, my mind wandered to other things. The theatre where I performed my first professional role at the age of seventeen, aptly named "Her Majesty's Theatre", situated in Queen Street in my hometown of Brisbane. You could smell the grease paint, and see the rodents that roamed those ancient hallways and dressing rooms that were freezing in winter and hot as hades in summer. No air conditioning, no sound systems in a three thousand seat theatre, but so much atmosphere and history that I remembered arriving for call time dead tired, and just the smell of the place could make the blood rush through my veins. I loved that old theatre, but it fell, demolished in a pile of dust and rubble to make way for "finer, newer" buildings that were more comfortable. History gone forever in the name of progress. I protested along with a lot of others whose lives and careers had been changed on that stage, but she came down nonetheless. Shows moved to the "modern" theatre up on the hill that had a sound system and air conditioning, but not much atmosphere, or history for that matter. But all in the name of progress.
My mind then turned to how music itself has changed drastically in such a short time. What happened to EP's, and LP's and a small black round disk that was known as a "single". I have one of those of myself singing in a radio competition at the age of fourteen. I have it carefully put away for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren to know something of their "Grammy". Of course I digitized it and have it stored on my I-Tunes, another leap in the music industry. Soon, we will not even remember cd's, they will become like cassettes, if you remember those. I still have an old turntable and my first four track recording system, my first DX7, and a pile of music I recorded way back then on a more than a few dats, and cassettes. I still have a Dat Machine as well as sheet music from when I was learning singing at ten. Those are old, and fragile, but memories I treasure.
Then of course my mind turned to the elderly, who we discovered while Roger's mum was in a nursing home at the end of her life, were very rarely visited by their families, and the children whose parents prefer a pill, or a bottle of ale over these precious little ones resulting in so many children in foster care. I could go on and on, but I'll let you remember your own precious things that have disappeared from life, some good, some bad, only time will tell. I sure hope in twenty years we don't look back and think we were living in the good old days. Here is the link, hope you enjoy:)
http://theadoptionthing.org/DustLeftOnMyCover.mp3
I never did learn as a child, and am still trying to co-ordinate both hands together as an adult. I mastered guitar, I plan to do the same with piano even if I am eighty. As I thought about the piano, my mind wandered to other things. The theatre where I performed my first professional role at the age of seventeen, aptly named "Her Majesty's Theatre", situated in Queen Street in my hometown of Brisbane. You could smell the grease paint, and see the rodents that roamed those ancient hallways and dressing rooms that were freezing in winter and hot as hades in summer. No air conditioning, no sound systems in a three thousand seat theatre, but so much atmosphere and history that I remembered arriving for call time dead tired, and just the smell of the place could make the blood rush through my veins. I loved that old theatre, but it fell, demolished in a pile of dust and rubble to make way for "finer, newer" buildings that were more comfortable. History gone forever in the name of progress. I protested along with a lot of others whose lives and careers had been changed on that stage, but she came down nonetheless. Shows moved to the "modern" theatre up on the hill that had a sound system and air conditioning, but not much atmosphere, or history for that matter. But all in the name of progress.
My mind then turned to how music itself has changed drastically in such a short time. What happened to EP's, and LP's and a small black round disk that was known as a "single". I have one of those of myself singing in a radio competition at the age of fourteen. I have it carefully put away for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren to know something of their "Grammy". Of course I digitized it and have it stored on my I-Tunes, another leap in the music industry. Soon, we will not even remember cd's, they will become like cassettes, if you remember those. I still have an old turntable and my first four track recording system, my first DX7, and a pile of music I recorded way back then on a more than a few dats, and cassettes. I still have a Dat Machine as well as sheet music from when I was learning singing at ten. Those are old, and fragile, but memories I treasure.
Then of course my mind turned to the elderly, who we discovered while Roger's mum was in a nursing home at the end of her life, were very rarely visited by their families, and the children whose parents prefer a pill, or a bottle of ale over these precious little ones resulting in so many children in foster care. I could go on and on, but I'll let you remember your own precious things that have disappeared from life, some good, some bad, only time will tell. I sure hope in twenty years we don't look back and think we were living in the good old days. Here is the link, hope you enjoy:)
http://theadoptionthing.org/DustLeftOnMyCover.mp3
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Real Issues
Well life has been busy, no, let me correct that, chaotic. End of year at school is always hectic, but it seemed more so this year with ballet shows, musical theatre for both my company and BAPA, recital, field day, it just seemed to go on and on. On top of that, I had music commitments of my own, writing deadlines, and mum duties, the most important. Grandbabies being born, other family crisis situations that always need Mum and Dad's attention, pool motors burning out, pool parties for all and sundry for birthday parties and end of year parties, Mother's day (yeah that's a laugh, isn't that every day?), my own mother and father in health troubles all the way back in Australia, with no possibility of me leaving, guilt over that, teenagers needing learning licenses, gym calling somewhere way back in the foggy part of my brain, and maybe least, but most for me, older kids needing Mum to babysit overnight, a pleasure not a chore, except, I am going to crawl to church next week if I have to. Thank God for IPad's and free editions of the whatever bible edition you want. It maybe somewhat personal, but my Ipad is in the bathroom where I, mostly, sometimes if I am lucky, cannot be interrupted from reading scripture when I am desperate for it.
I am living in a memory of where I remember when my older kids reached teenagedom I realized that the kitchen was not my own, their bedrooms, as well as other rooms in the house, were subject to utter chaos with clothes, books, left over what ever, and my days of containing them in a room, gated of course, where I could control mess, was over. I am back there, only two and a bit times over. The first lot measured four, the second, nine. My coveted, (yes,repentance is in order) 6 burner, flat grill Viking range, is also coveted by five, yes five, avid chefs who refuse to clean up after themselves. They see me seamlessly cook Chinese, Indian, my famous breakfast potatoes, eggs, etc, and experiment with some of the same, and some of whatever, but clean up? That's what mother's are for, aren't they? I think not, but my impressions of this upon them are not working. I may be reduced to something like a strong broth before the end of summer.
Then there are real kid issues where real prayer without humor is necessary. A rescued child who is not making it in the real "America", a grand child who may be on the Autisic scale, not a real biggie because we have an Aspergers child, but, a situation where comic relief is impossible. As Forest Gump said, "Life is like a box of chocolates", so true, but sometimes the flavors are not what you expected. Am I glad that God is Good, God is real, and God is here, available, to give comfort, help, and encouragement into what seem like a cloudy future, but not to Him, who sees and knows all things. I pray my vision will clear. Maybe my new contacts will help with that???
I am living in a memory of where I remember when my older kids reached teenagedom I realized that the kitchen was not my own, their bedrooms, as well as other rooms in the house, were subject to utter chaos with clothes, books, left over what ever, and my days of containing them in a room, gated of course, where I could control mess, was over. I am back there, only two and a bit times over. The first lot measured four, the second, nine. My coveted, (yes,repentance is in order) 6 burner, flat grill Viking range, is also coveted by five, yes five, avid chefs who refuse to clean up after themselves. They see me seamlessly cook Chinese, Indian, my famous breakfast potatoes, eggs, etc, and experiment with some of the same, and some of whatever, but clean up? That's what mother's are for, aren't they? I think not, but my impressions of this upon them are not working. I may be reduced to something like a strong broth before the end of summer.
Then there are real kid issues where real prayer without humor is necessary. A rescued child who is not making it in the real "America", a grand child who may be on the Autisic scale, not a real biggie because we have an Aspergers child, but, a situation where comic relief is impossible. As Forest Gump said, "Life is like a box of chocolates", so true, but sometimes the flavors are not what you expected. Am I glad that God is Good, God is real, and God is here, available, to give comfort, help, and encouragement into what seem like a cloudy future, but not to Him, who sees and knows all things. I pray my vision will clear. Maybe my new contacts will help with that???
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