Road to Adoption

I had the best mother in the world, so naturally, all I ever wanted to be was a mom like the one I had. So, my husband and I looked at adoption since I couldn't have children of my own.  We checked into many different adoption agencies around the Colorado Springs area and finally went with Catholic Charities.

We started the intense process of foster to adopt and went through the home study where we had to bare the most intimate details of our lives, attend all the classes, and pass our CPR class.  We read every book we could get our hands on.  Finally we were certified.

Our portfolio was done and we were eager and ready to see what lay ahead of us.  One day I got the call I had been waiting for.  We had been selected as prospective adoptive parents by the birth mother.  We were very excited and eager to meet the birth mother and her boyfriend.  As the days led up to that meeting date, it was hard to contain the excitement that we shared at the possibility of finally having a baby in our home in the near future.

What happened next?  I'm really not sure.  I got a phone call just an hour or so before that anticipated meeting time that we didn't need to come.  Complete devastation.  Disappointment doesn't even begin to describe the feelings that we experienced.  Had she changed her mind and was no longer placing the baby up for adoption?  Or had she found someone else to place her baby with?

It was quite awhile later before we got the answers to our questions. Apparently, over the weekend, the birth mother and her boyfriend had run into some long time friends and after a lengthy discussion, decided that they really wanted to place the baby with these friends.  Thus, the phone call to us letting us know that we no longer needed to meet.

While this was a very disappointing time in our life, I'm still a firm believer that things ALWAYS work out the way they are supposed to.  And so, for whatever reason, that little baby boy or girl was not meant to be loved and raised by us. It was almost as if I could hear my own mother whispering in my ear, "In God's time, Jari, in God's time."  Easier said than done by a most impatient person such as myself.

Thus, we continued the wait...and the wait...and the wait...until one day, we talked to some good friends of ours about the foster-to-adopt program that they had gone through with Colorado Family Services in Lakewood, Colorado.  They put us in touch with the director there, and thus, we started part two of our road to adoption.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Home Is Where the Heart Is

            There is a saying by Naval Captain Pliny the Elder, “Home is where the heart is…”, but what if your heart is in several places?  Are all of those places home?  I tend to believe so because home is with the people you love presently, but can also be where you grew up and where your childhood friends are.  We always tend to remember our childhood home and the memories that helped to shape us into what we are today.

            A piece of my heart calls Ulysses, Kansas, home.  This is the small rural, out in the middle of nowhere town in the very southwestern corner of Kansas where I was born and raised.  It’s where I went through 13 years (K-12) of school with most of the same friends.  It’s the place and people that helped shape and mold me into who I am today.

            It’s the place where you could ride your bike clear across town and your parents didn’t worry.  It’s where we made our own fun and let our imaginations rule by playing outside until it was dark, and it was way before the days of cell phones, video games, and the Internet.

            It’s where I met my most cherished, best, and lifelong friend in the whole world.  It’s where I decided I wanted to be a teacher because of the influence of the teachers in my life. 

It’s where once a Ulysses Tiger, always a Ulysses Tiger.  It’s where you chant, “We’re from Ulysses couldn’t be prouder.  If you can’t hear us, we’ll yell a little louder,” and “Give me a T…give me an I…give me a G…give me an E…give me an R…give me an S.  What’s that spell?  TIGERS!”  With those chants comes the sense of pride that only growing up in that small rural community can give.

            It’s where I epically failed to ever learn to drive a stick shift, but learned to drive an automatic on muddy, dirt roads with wheat, milo, or corn growing on either side of the ditch.  It’s where I spent quality time riding in the tandem truck with my dad and brothers on a cold Saturday in October during sugar beet harvest.  I didn’t see them often during harvest time so it was a treat for me to ride with them to the dump to unload the sugar beets.  It’s where I attended church every Sunday with my family… and friends that became family.

            It’s where I always returned after spreading my wings and leaving the nest.  It’s where I still return to because I have family there and my parents and oldest brother are buried there.  It’s where a piece of my heart is and always will be.  It’s HOME!

No Accident

A friend of mine recently posted the following quote:

I really started thinking about that as oftentimes and more so recently, I have questioned whether I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. Interestingly enough, I have been working with at risk high school students, trying to help them improve their reading skills.  Now, the "at risk" would be enough, but then you bring in the reading, and sometimes that spells "disaster".  Many of them are "at risk" because of their reading and writing abilities, and many of them for other reasons.  I have questioned myself as to whether I can make a difference and if I have made a difference.  As my time working with this particular group of students and staff comes to an end, I still have questions about how I ended up there.  It's not a place I probably would have chosen earlier in my career.  But, the job was there staring me in the face, and I took a chance.

I have grown to love those students (even on their worst days) and while I will never know what my real purpose was for spending two years of my life there, I know it was not an accident.  I believe that God always has a reason and purpose for placing us where he does..

So, as my time comes to an end over the next two months, I've decided not to any longer question as to whether or not I made a difference or why I ended up there, but just to be grateful for the people whose paths have crossed mine.

It's Just Three Little Words

"I love you."  It's just three little words with a powerful impact.  So, why is it that we find it so hard to tell those we love, "I love you."?  I recently read a post on a friend's blog where she said something along the lines of, "We hung up after exchanging an I love you," and as a side note - something we seldom said to one another.  Thinking of the struggle I've had with this in my life, it struck a chord.

I grew up in a family where I rarely heard those words.  Did I know I was loved?  Yes, I did.  My mom and dad adored me, and it was obvious.  They showed me often that they loved me, but those words were never spoken.  I never heard my dad tell my mother that he loved her, and I never heard my mother tell my dad that she loved him.  Did they know they were loved?  Yes.  Did we know they were loved?  Yes.

Do actions speak louder than words?  Oftentimes I would agree. But, it's so important to hear that.  Suddenly, after my mom died, I never left my dad or hung up the phone from talking to him that he didn't say, "I love you," and I replied back with, "I love you too."  While it was awkward at first, I began to realize the importance of those three little words and how powerful they are.  There's something about being told that you are loved that makes everything seem right with the world.

I did a little research about saying I love you...I found an article (http://www.oprah.com/relationships/Saying-I-Love-You) that says it's important because the person you're saying it to needs to hear it.  In this article Rabbi Schmuley says to say it over and over until it's comfortable saying it and the habit becomes second nature.  Habit?  Saying "I love you" is a habit?  I think so.

I still struggle with those three little words but I am getting better at it.   I do think it's important to let the people you love know that you love them.  I also think it's easier for some people to say it than others.  I certainly miss those phone calls with my dad and hearing him tell me that he loves me and being able to tell him that I love him too.  One day it becomes too late to let the people know you do love them.  Make it your habit.  I'll leave you with this quote by Maya Angelo, "I don't trust people who don't love themselves and tell me, 'I love you.'"

http://www.oprah.com/relationships/Saying-I-Love-You

Half Empty? or Half Full?

I have always been pretty fortunate to be able to surround myself with positive people.  I've had a few "Negative Nellies" over the years but more often than not, I've been fortunate to always work with people who were positive.

Over the last couple of years, through necessity more than choice, I've been surrounded by a plethora of glass "half empties" rather than glass "half fulls".  It has made me think a lot about what makes people that way.  It takes so much more energy to be on the "half empty" side.

Does it happen because most negative people tend to focus on what they don't have rather than what they do have?  Why can't people just be positive and thankful for all the things they do have:  health, family, friends, etc...It just seems as though some people are never happy.  And looking at the world through a "half empty" glass affects all of your relationships and everything you do.

How do you see the world, or rather, how do you think others think you see the world?  Are you a "half empty" or "half full" person?  And, is it a "partly cloudy" or "partly sunny" day and is there a difference?

The Porch Swing

Carefree, carefree, carefree
A much simpler and stress free time.
Swinging on the porch swing
   in the summer evenings with birds chirping
      wind blowing
      grass rustling
      crickets chirping
      cars going by
      children playing
My serene happy place to read in my childhood.

Is it still there?
Is the grass kept cut?
Are the bushes behind it as neatly trimmed as when my momma did it?
Oh, so peaceful!

Adventures with Diana - Driving a Stick Shift

One sunny, absolutely gorgeous Sunday afternoon in my early driving days, my best friend Diana decided that she was going to take me out and teach me to drive a stick shift.  We were in high school and I don’t remember for sure, but I don’t think we had turned 16 yet.  Having learned to drive with only an automatic, I had never driven a standard, and had absolutely no knowledge of how to shift gears or use the clutch.  So, we hopped into her dad’s little white pickup and headed out a couple of miles into the country.

                We were on a dirt road and there were ditches on both sides of the road surrounded by fields of golden yellow corn.  It was just your normal two lane dirt road and we never saw any traffic the entire time we were out there.  There were fairly deep irrigation ditches on both sides of the road.

                As we drove down the road, Di was showing me how to use the clutch and how to shift the gears.  We switched positions and I became the driver.

                Who knows what happened next?  Driving down the road I was fine, but then she told me to stop and turn around in the road.  Of course, I never got the hang of the clutch and shifting and everything else that went with it, so I KILLED it!

                Somehow, I managed to end up facing the ditch a little into it.  She never said a word to me, but instead, got out of the pickup and came around to my side (the driver’s side) which I knew immediately meant, “Get out!!  I’m driving now!”

                We drove all the way back to town in silence.  When we drove in the driveway at her parent’s house, she looked over at me and said, “Just give up trying to learn to drive a stick shift, Jari!  You’re hopeless!”

My Lifelong and Best Friend, Diana

This morning, as I was listening to the news station tell us about the snow storm of the century that is

supposed to hit us this weekend, I was thinking about my best friend, Diana, who lives in Naples, Florida.  I heard that it was even cool down there.  Why yes, it was a balmy 42 degrees there when I looked it up on my phone.  I sent her an email and she told me they were freezing.  They had to turn their heater on, which is pretty uncommon down there.  42 degrees here is no coat weather!  Isn't it interesting how we acclimate to the weather where we live?  Weather changes and life changes are inevitable, and we learn to deal with those changes.

But, the one thing that hasn't changed over time is the friendship that Diana and I share.  I am so very thankful for her.  We always tell everyone that we are family, and we are.  We have always been sisters from another mother and dad.  I don't remember ever not knowing Diana or having her in my life.  Her mom, dad, sister, and she moved to Ulysses before we started kindergarten. She and her family are all in my earliest memories.  Her parents attended the same church we did, and our parents became fast friends also.  Her older sister (by a year and 3 days), Angela, was just like my sister also.

This is truer than you'll ever know!

We've been through a lifetime of memories together....growing up together (I spent as much time at her house as I did my own and vice versa), elementary, junior high, and high school, and even 1 year of college together, adventures too numerous to count, both of our weddings, the death of both of my parents and older brother, the death of her sister and dad.......what made that connection so strong for us?  

I don't know the answer to that question and just recently, I gave my students a Quickwrite with the following prompt:  All of us have friends in our lives.  What do you look for in a friend?  What is that one special quality/characteristic that you are looking for?  I always sit down and write with my students.  That was a very difficult Quickwrite.  I couldn't really answer that question with anything except, "I want a friend that has all the qualities of my friend, Diana."  Is it honesty? Trustworthiness?  Integrity?  Kindness?  Compassionate?  Dependable?  A good listener?  All of the above?

Tough question to answer.  We fought like sisters, and yet loved each other.  Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself.  That bond is just there and always has been.  We can go for really long periods of time without seeing each other or talking to each other, and the minute we get together, it's like we never were apart.  

I recently spent 5 days at Christmas time with her, and after hearing Diana's husband, Mike, say something about he didn't know how late we were up that he had gone on to bed and we were still sitting on the deck talking (I do believe that night it was after midnight - we had a lot of catching up to do!), Diana's niece, Cali, said, "Wow, Jari, you are someone special.  Diana doesn't stay up for anyone!"  (She typically does go to bed around 8 or 8:30 every night except when I visit!).  Well, I am someone special because I have Diana in my life.  I am one lucky girl to have such a dear and special friend!

On the beach in Naples - April 2011

More to come on our many adventures we have shared...

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

          Saturday, June 21st, 1997.  A day forever etched in my memory.  I remember that day as vividly as if it happened today.  I got the phone call early in the morning that my mom had died.  Most days I can't tell you what I ate for lunch, what I did, or anything.  That day, I remember exactly where I was.

          It was a warm Saturday morning and my in-laws were visiting from Mississippi for the very first time (James and I had gotten married in March of 1996).  It was their first trip to our house and I was nervous about their visiting for the first time.  We had many things planned for the week, none of which included them staying behind while my husband and I went home to bury my mama.
 

          It was about 8:30 in the morning and the phone rang.  A phone call early in the morning is usually never good news and this morning was no exception.

          "Hello."

          "Jari," she said, "I have some not so very good news to tell you."  It was my sister-in-law Gloria.

          I didn't know what to say and so she continued, "Your mom didn't wake up this morning and when your dad went down to check on her, she had passed away.  The paramedics came but there was nothing they could do."

          I said through my tears, "Why didn't they try to revive her?"

          She replied, "Jari, she was gone.  There was nothing they could do."
 

          Words failed me and finally I said, "We'll be on our way home soon."

          She said, "Give us a call when you're on the road."

          I hung up the phone, sat down in the chair, and literally crumbled.  By that time I was sobbing, and my mother and father-in-law were standing over me trying to get out of me what had happened.  My husband was in the bathroom, and I remember my father-in-law beating on the bathroom door yelling, "You need to get out here.  Something has happened."

          My husband came out and he too was standing over me trying to make sense of the hysterical person sitting before him.  My in-laws had picked up enough information from the phone conversation to know that someone had died; they just didn't know who.  My husband finally said, "Is it your dad?" 
   

          I was able to shake my head, "No." 

          In shock, he asked, "Your mom?" 

          I shook my head, "Yes."

          You see, my dad was always the one with the heart conditions, kidney stones, and various other ailments.  My mom was the pillar of our family, the matriarch.  She was very much a "take charge" kind of person, and she was the glue that held us all together. 

          Helen Bell Battin stood all of 5 foot 3 or 4inches tall, just a little thing in stature. But, oh was she mighty.  She commanded respect when she entered the room.  When she spoke, everyone stopped and listened.  She was the best mother in the world and an even better grandma (or so my nieces and nephews will tell you), and loved by all.  She had a heart that was generous enough for everyone who crossed her path.  One of the best cooks in the world, she did not use a recipe often, and if she did, she never followed it completely.  An immaculate housekeeper, she loved to clean.  It was often said that she could clean circles around her daughters and daughter-in-laws.  Her hands were always busy with works of "love":  a hand embroidered shirt, a hand embroidered Christmas stocking, tattered jean repair, or a quilt.   No matter what she was doing, she was NEVER too busy if you needed her.  She taught me the value of hard work and determination.  Her family was important to her, and she never failed to show that.

          She could NEVER be gone.  She was the single most important person in my life who saw through my faults and flaws and still loved me unconditionally anyway.  She was my cheerleader, my rock, my biggest fan, my strength, my encourager, my protector, and the first person I called for any reason or no reason at all. 

          But she WAS gone, and I never got to say goodbye.

          Unfortunately, I was supposed to go home when school was out, but I had a class coming up so rather than making the 4 1/2 - 5 hour drive to see her then, I thought I would wait until my class was over and go see her in July.  I never got that chance.

          June 20, 1997, was my mother's 78th birthday.  I didn't call her that day.  I knew she would understand.  I was baking and getting ready for my in-laws to arrive that evening.  My mom went to work at the Variety Haus just as she had every day for the last several years.  She knew my in-laws were coming because she had asked me every Sunday afternoon for the past month when she called, "Now, when is it that your in-laws are coming?"  And every time, I would say, "Friday, June 20th, at 6:30 PM."  She knew we would be headed to the airport and then to eat dinner and it would be late when we got home.  I had planned to call her on Saturday. 

          And now it was Saturday, and I would never get a chance to call her because she WAS gone.

          How did this happen?  She went to bed and died in her sleep.  It's a tough thing to deal with when you are the one left behind. 

          Do our loved ones have a premonition about death?  I believe they do.  You see, my husband worked weekends and had my in-laws not been there, every other Saturday of my life I would have been there by myself.  My mom called me like clockwork every Sunday afternoon.  And for several weeks, she had been asking me when my in-laws were coming and if my husband was taking off and would be home.  And I kept telling her to the point that I began to think she was crazy and getting very forgetful.  Crazy and forgetful it was not, but she was making sure I wasn't home alone when I got the news.  A mother's unconditional love to the very end.

          There is a myriad of emotions that you experience with the loss of someone you love, and while I lived with the guilt for a while, the reality of it is that I know she knew I loved her and I certainly knew she loved me.  Life is full of unknowns, and we never know when it might be the last time we get to see someone.  Do not put off until tomorrow what you can do today, especially when it comes to the relationships in your life.  Live life to the fullest and tell those that are important to you that you love them every chance you can.

Lesson Learned From a Two-Year-Old

Last summer, my nephew Ernie, his very pregnant wife Mendi (due with twins in less than two months) and their 2 year old daughter, Isabelle, came to Colorado before life as they knew it would be forever changed with the addition of two little twin boys.  They called and told us they were in Pueblo and wondered if we would drive down and join them for dinner.  We promptly jumped at the chance since my husband and I both adore Isabelle (as we do all of my great nieces and nephews, but we just happen to get to see Isabelle more often because she lives closer). 

James and I drove to Pueblo and met them for dinner at a little Italian restaurant along the Riverwalk.  After finishing dinner, we walked around for a while and because it was such a beautiful evening decided to take the boat ride.  We had a great time riding the boat and of course, Isabelle thought she could stand up by herself.  That was a "no go" with any of us and believe me, she tried.  She walked from Daddy to Momma, to Uncle James and then Aunt Jari.  She ended up staying with me because I was the closest to the front and she could see better.  I did let her stand up but only with my arm around her.  As we moved through the canals, it was so much fun to watch her get excited at every little thing she saw.  There were different statues/sculptures of various animals/children/Indian woman with quilt in each canal and as we approached each one, she would get a big smile on her face as she would point and shout, "Look, Aunt Jari!" or "Look, Daddy!"  We would talk about each of the different statues.  There are some things money can't buy:  the gas to drive to Pueblo - $14, the dinner and boat ride - $65, the time spent with Isabelle and the lesson learned - PRICELESS!

          

The pure innocence of little children with their budding curiosity is always fun to watch.  Children are inquisitive little creatures by nature.  When they see something, they get so excited.  As we got off the boat, there were little picnic tables and seats over to the side.  Isabelle ran over and climbed up into the seat.  Suddenly, her eyes just locked onto something on that table.  Now, mind you, it was dark and the only light was coming from the tall streetlights and the lights that were strategically placed around the Riverwalk.  My husband and I stood there looking also, but we could not see a thing!  However, Isabelle was mesmerized.  I said to her momma, "What is she looking at?" 

         

Mendi instantly replied, "She sees the ants crawling across the top of the table."  Apparently, this was something she had done before.  She got so excited about seeing those ants and was then just fascinated in watching them.  Of course, James and I, with our "old" eyes, could NOT see those ants crawling on the table at all!

          

What might have been an insignificant or even unnoticeable event to most people was a huge deal to our little Isabelle.  As we stood and watched her lock eyes on that table and study that procession of ants, I was reminded how it really is the little things in life that matter, the seemingly, trivial moments in time that count.  Watching our little Isabelle, I was reminded of the old clichés that I grew up with, "Stop and smell the roses along the way," or "Take time to enjoy the simple things in life."  --- Perhaps truer words were never spoken.  We move so quickly through life that we sometimes lose sight of the important things in life and forget to be curious like little children.  Everyone is always in a hurry to get somewhere, and there is always the "I don't have time to do it today.  I'll do it tomorrow."  Sometimes tomorrow never comes.  Those moments in time happen only right then.  We shouldn't pass them up. 

          

What would happen if we all stopped for a minute and began to look at life through the eyes of the wonderment of a little Isabelle?  Wouldn't the world be a better and happier place?    

Share in the wonderment and curiosity of a child.  Stop and watch the ants crawl across the table.  

Just a Kansas Girl

I have lived in Colorado for 27 years now. That is almost half of my life that I have lived out here. And for 27 years, I have heard, "Oh, you know Dorothy and Toto?" or "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." And I just smile and say, "I sure do know Dorothy and Toto, and no, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore."

Yes, I cheer for the Kansas City Chiefs.  I know I'm definitely in the minority, but I cheer on my Kansas teams (K-state, KU, FHSU Tigers, and the WSU Shockers, to name a few).  The sight of a big, yellow sunflower will stop me dead in my tracks.

Traffic congestion on I-25 makes me crazy, but coming up behind a tractor or combine or harvesting crew that's taking its half out of the middle of the road and moving slowly is A-OK.

Do you eat dinner or supper?  Growing up, dinner was our noon meal and supper was our evening meal.  I moved to Colorado and people looked at me like I was crazy.  Lunch was your noon meal and dinner was your evening meal.  I still don't get that right always!

While I love the mountains and have a killer view out my front window every single day of Pikes Peak, I grew up where it was flat, flat, flat.  I remember telling one of my roommates in college that you could see for miles out where I lived, and I don't think she believed me until she made the drive out to see me.  It's a different kind of beautiful.  And say what you will, but western Kansas has some of the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets in the world.

https://lonewolfcyclist.wordpress.com/2011/06/09/16th-day-may-31/

Sunrise picture courtesy of my friend, Marieta Hauser

So, while Colorado has been my home for the last several years, my heart always goes back to Kansas and "Home on the Range."  I guess you can take the girl out of Kansas, but you can't take the Kansas out of the girl!