Hear My Prayer

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I spent some time on Sunday reading the profiles of waiting children. These are the kids who are waiting to be adopted – their parent’s rights, now terminated. Through thirteen pages of results, I was struck at not only how simple their hopes and requests were, but by the handful of children who do not want to be adopted. They’re still hoping for and holding onto the dream that they’ll be reunited with their family. How heartbreaking.

As I looked through the profiles, I felt drawn to some of the pre-teen an teen girls – thinking of how how hard it must be to enter such a tumultuous time without a family to provide you with stability, love, consistency, boundaries, and a place to come home to someday. I have a feeling I will enjoy {and probably go crazy too} having pre-teens and teens in my house. In spite of what will surely be crazy making moments, how amazing to know you’ve provided that to a young man or young woman that would other wise “age-out” of the foster care system, without an anchor to anything that is theirs and lasting?

But event still, I dream and hope of a baby. Of more than one baby. I try to pretend it’s not there but it is. I want a baby, people. Every time someone announces they’re pregnant, the ache grows. Every time {which is a lot} that a new baby is born in my squadron, the ache grows. My home and heart is open to all ages, races, and needs. But oh how I want a baby. I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. So rather than deny it, I’m just living with the desire and hope.

Hoping God hears my prayer.

 

Sunday Nights

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Sunday is always the hardest. Filled with regret and longing and sadness.

Sunday is the ever so weekly reminder that this isn’t what I planned.

If you were here, this is what I would say to you. On a Sunday night. Or a Monday night. Or any other.

I love you, you Beautiful Man.

You are crazy. So crazy. But you’re my kind of crazy.

Promise me you’ll always look at me like you do right now.

You are the sweetest, soulful jerk I know.

Play me a song.

Hold me close & don’t let go. Not ever.

Now that you’re here, I have no plans to say goodbye. So settle in with me, now.

When Monday comes, we will go our separate ways when work calls us away. I will go about my day waiting for the next moment with you.

I love your heart.

Restless

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I’m restless.

Fitful.

Anxious.

I’m getting closer to what I want and only part of what I planned and hoped for. Every day I get up to a reminder that I am about embark on a journey alone that I wanted to share with the man I would spend the rest of my life with.

Restless and frustrated. I’m restless and frustrated.

Flowing under the surface is the hope that all of this is pulling me up, closer and closer to exactly where I’m supposed to be.

All She Wants to do is Dance

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If it weren’t for Don Henley, my “about me” on social media and my blog would be less nerdy. He is always there, front and center, along with Jesus, my dog, pine trees, and wine (and occasionally tequila). I had a come to Jesus moment early this year when I realized that I was turning 40 with nothing not enough to show for it.

I took myself to a Food & Wine festival. I’ve started the foster care process. I’ve lost 30.6 pounds so far. And earlier this summer, after seeing that Don Henley would be performing at Wolf Trap in Virginia, I bought a ticket. To go to a concert by myself? Hell yes.

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But things have been a little complicated lately. And in the stress and worry, I called off my trip. On Wednesday, by the end of the work day, I had been convinced to go. I won’t bore you with all of the details of the conversations that led to the change. I will say this – they both said very similar things. It was enough to remind me that I only have this one chance at this life. I don’t get a do-over. I’ve already wasted too much time.

So I drove to Virginia – tired. I was in Quantico for a couple of hours before heading north to Vienna. It was a rush to get there on time. But I made it. I found a spot on the little hill. I knew I’d lost my chance to get better seats, but I didn’t care. Not even a little. I laid out my blanket and enjoyed a picnic. The great thing about a concert like this is all the…hippies. Or maybe they’re retired hippies. Whatever.

They didn’t care one bit about how anything looked. They wanted to dance? They danced. They didn’t care what they looked like, sounded like, or how freaking hot and humid it was. The crowd was great. While there were definitely youngins’ around, the majority of the crowd was my age and older (emphasis on older). The couple in front of me were adorable – the husband read a book until the music started and got excited every time he sang older hits.

Don sang songs from his forty-four career! What in the world? He was awesome. The entire concert was awesome. His last song (before the encore) was “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears. The last thing I expected, but really good.  But his encore was the best part. He sang some favorites including “Hotel California.” When he started to sing “All She Wants to do is Dance” I wondered why I sat while everyone else danced. So I danced. In the dark. On a horribly humid night. Alone. It was a blast.

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I was so far away from the stage! I mean…so far away. In the photo above, the lighted area was the stage. If I stood to the right (and on my tippy toes) I could see a tiny Don Henley. And I mean tiny. But it was still a great night. I’m so grateful that there are people around me who get me. My two closest friends knew I needed to be there. And the conversations I had at work sealed the deal. I needed to do this.

I needed to go to this concert. Like there are some other things I need to do this year. Everything is changing.

 

Uncertain

Onslow Beach, Atlantic Ocean, Beach, Ocean

“I have seafoam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.” – Le Testament d’Orphée
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When we were little, my grandparents lived in San Clemente part of the year because my Grandpa worked for California State Parks. They lived at the beach – on that cliff where the campground is – where we camped every summer & then stayed after with them.

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Grandma would take us down the path that led through the cliffs to the beach, early in the day and we would play in the sand or collect shell after shell. Grandma, a true artist, always found new ways to talk about the beauty. I learned some lessons on the beach at San Clemente, that have stayed with me more than 30 years later. Mostly that when I feel the least certain, I find certainty here.

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“I am made of salt and sand and the deep jade green of the Atlantic. The salt air courses through my veins. This place, these waves, the sea glass and shells with rounded edges, beaten constantly in the surf, are the pieces and places of my very soul.” – Elaina