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!”