Monday, February 20, 2017

white mama at the black barbershop: a busted chin and a lollipop...


It's been one of those days.

In the midst of alot of stress... ministry situations, fund raising (our main supporting church just had to cut their yearly giving to RUF from $10,000 to $0...that's not stressful...), confusion over schooling for our children next year, etc., I just needed one more thing on my plate.

So how about a fluke fall onto the floor which landed a gash and a busted chin?

It was one of those motherhood rite-of-passage moments.  Where I, with wet hair and half dressed, am simultaneously grabbing my purse and rushing out the door to the doctor, holding a tissue against Jameson's chin to stop the bleeding.

And thankfully, it only needed a little cleaning and some glue to put the skin back together.  (No stitches this time, thank you, Jesus.)

This white mama doesn't do well with blood, so I'm still trying to calm down.

So we got the chin all fixed up, just in time to head to a hair cut.

New barbershop.  New barber.

A glued up chin.

A mini Simon Says game in his hands.

He was so tired from all the morning's "excitement"
and I saw his eyes getting heavier and heavier...


...until they couldn't stay open any longer.


HOWEVER cute and peaceful that may be, Jameson's now at the age that if he naps EVEN FOR JUST A FEW MINUTES, he'll be up until 10pm at night.

(And though I love my kids, I don't want to be with them at 10pm.)

So Trell, the barber, had just the trick to entice him to wake back up:  a lollipop.

That did the trick.  For whatever reason, Jameson hasn't been as fussy with a male barber like he was with our female one.  (I guess it's a pride thing...)  He doesn't ask me to sit in the chair with him, either.

We're definitely moving up.

But he still doesn't want to talk, either.  Trell tried to ask him questions, and this white mama SO appreciated it.  My son needs all the opportunities he can get to interact with black men in his life.

"Come on, Jameson," I encouraged him.  "You've gotta talk. That's what you do in a barber shop."

"That's right!" Trell said.  "And then eventually one day when you're old enough for your mama to start dropping you off, then you and me can REALLY talk."   Hahahahahaha  

We made it to the end of the cut, and isn't my baby so handsome??  He is going to be a heart breaker, y'all.

As much as I like how trim and styled this hairstyle looks,
(and my goodness, it's SO much easier to style)
I've gotta admit, I'm missing his curls on top.

But after the busted chin incident,
it was so, so good just to see him SMILE again.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

the days are long but the years are short...

Seeing as how this blog is my kids' "baby book" of sorts, here's what life is looking like these days...

Jameson is my silly guy, with a small streak of mischievous.

Still obsessed with Star Wars and potty humor, of course.

One day I let him take a bath in my tub.
A minute later, I turned around and
somehow he had found a way to fill the entire tub with bubbles.

 Caroline just switched from dance to gymnastics.

(She was doing handstands during ballet class, so I took that as our cue to leave...)

 Y'all, I can't believe my baby girl is about to turn 9 next week!  How can this be?!

She is so, so smart and outgoing.  A social butterfly of her school, neighborhood, and our church.  She continues to be a natural leader.

She's also on the intense side and needs help lightening up sometimes.  :)

We've entered the 3rd grade girl drama, so much of our conversation is centered on who was mean today at recess, who's not speaking to who, and how to be a good friend.

It's kinda crazy to watch the world grow larger to your child as she grows older.  New, bigger challenges arise.  New fears and anxieties arise.  Many times I find myself lost as to what parenting well looks like at this age.
 Jameson's not in gymnastics class, but occasionally on Saturdays, he and Caroline go to "open gym" and he loves it.

He's getting so tall these days.

Though he's able to reason more now at 4,
it's so difficult to persuade him to do every little task.

Get on your shoes.  
Go use the potty.  
Wash your hands.  
Get your coat on.

The struggle is real.

Recently we surprised the kids with a trip to the trampoline park and every day they still ask to go back.

It was like the best hour of their life.  ha ha ha ha
Who do you think won this battle?

We've only had one snow this year thus far!  The kids LOVE to sled down the hill behind our house.

10% of Liberty University students are sick with the flu this week, so we are keeping our fingers crossed it doesn't reach our house.  (!!!)

Can I just freeze time still right now??  Be still my heart.  May he always want to carry his baby around in public.

oh, I love him

But really, how many lightsabers does one need?

The days are long, but the years are so short.

Every day I want to cuddle and kiss them.

God, give me grace to be their mama.

Monday, February 6, 2017

river house #12: wall of windows and a homeless ministry

Y'all, this River House is going to do me in.  My hair is going gray and this project is probably why.

Don't get me wrong, I love it.  I have the vision, and I'm ready to see it come to life!  I wish I was moving in tomorrow!

But oh, the days and weeks just drag on, and it feels like our wallets are empty and we are still in framing.

This project has become so much bigger than just a house.  Oh no, it's giving us stories.  It's giving us connections.  It's giving us ministry.

It was a sad and discouraging day when we had to let our former contractor, Mr. Larry, go.  The bills were just getting too high.  And through friends of ours who are also in the business of renovating properties, God brought us Mr. Jim.

Mr. Jim
"Mr. Jim," as our kids call him, is our new contractor and we love him already.

10 years ago, Jim lost his son at age 16 to suicide as a result of childhood bullying.  Through that tragedy, he admits he lost his marriage and he lost his faith.

But every year on the anniversary of their son's death, Jim and his former wife (they're still best friends) host a party in his remembrance.  And this year, being the 10th anniversary, was the biggest yet.

They hired magicians for the kids, they had pinatas and lots of food and candy.  We were so honored to attend, and we are praying for Jesus to carry Mr. Jim through so much pain.

In just a short time, Mr. Jim has made quite a splash at the River House.  
Remember the large great room that didn't even have windows yet?

(Designing the focal wall of windows for a river house is a little intimidating to say the least...)

Here it was the night before windows....

And here it is AFTER.  The windows took my breath away when I walked in and saw the view for the first time.  The picture doesn't do it justice.  

NOW it looks like a River House.

Those windows are so great, you'll be able to see all the way to the back wall of windows as you walk in the front door.

Jim also put the window in that will go above my tub.  I can picture it now.... ahhh....

Beginning of fireplace wall

getting essentials together for the homeless man
It turned out that Mr. Jim had compassion on a homeless man who happened to stop by one day and ask for work.  But after he worked at the house all day, we caught the man trying to sleep on the dirt floor under the house.  (so, so sad.  He just wanted to stay out of the cold.)  It's a long story, full of twists and turns over the next few nights, but I'll just say that a ministry to the homeless wasn't exactly in my plans when I bought this house...

Obviously God had other plans, and it was a good opportunity to wrestle with what it looks like to live out the Gospel we claim to believe... especially when the person literally shows up in your house.

It was a very tangible reminder that our own Savior himself entered this world with no place to lay his head.  He, too, was relegated to a dirt floor.  

Great Room
So this is where the open Great Room currently stands.  Isn't it GORGEOUS?  Can you envision it?
Looking into the dining room and kitchen

Burn, baby, burn

Instead of hauling a bunch of wood scraps to the dump, we decided to burn it one day.  (I'm not sure we realized the fire would get so big??)

The kids absolutely loved playing "firemen" with the hose, though!

If anyone has a crew of construction workers and about $100,000 sitting around,
we'll take it...

To be continued.

Thursday, February 2, 2017

michael brown is living in my house...

Back from a much needed, life-giving conference in St. Louis.

Our denomination hosts a yearly "Justice and Reconciliation" conference at New City Fellowship in St. Louis, which is an amazing multi-ethnic congregation doing great things in their city.

Welcome to St. Louis!
Marc and I have been trying to get to this conference for the past two years, and this year we just HAD to make it happen.

Florissant Ave. in Ferguson, Missouri
Upon arriving town, the first place we headed was the small town next door, Ferguson.  Since the events of Michael Brown's shooting there and the subsequent over-militarization of the police against protesters, I've had this strong desire to go and see it for myself.

Because it was two and a half years ago when I watched a live stream night after night on my computer.  I struggled to understand the racial complexities of the situation from both sides.  My heart was breaking to see the lengths people were going in their desperation and pleas for justice.  The situation looked like a scene I had only seen in a movie from the 1960's.  And this was 2015.  

I watched many of my facebook friends respond hastily with condemnation and hateful words towards the situation.  They rushed to judgment, bypassing empathy altogether.  Was anyone asking questions?  Was anyone seeking to understand?  There's a ton of complexity when it comes to this stuff.  There's a ton of history that plays into it as well.  And all of that didn't seem to matter in the heat of the moment.

Ferguson impacted me deeply.  I felt the fear that black mothers all over the country feel for their boys.  They know the statistics, they know the realities all too well.  And yet, as I was drawing nearer in solidarity to my dark-skinned brothers and sisters, I was simultaneously feeling more rejected and alienated by those in my own culture.

I don't think my white friends and family intended to be hurtful.  I honestly think most are blissfully ignorant, and they're uncomfortable or unsure when it comes to speaking on matters of race.  (perhaps that's because in our culture, we've bought into the lie that race isn't something that should be discussed.) 

But the blank faces, the minimizing, the same predictable defenses are not only hurtful, they are tiring, too.  

Two years later, fresh roses were laying upon the scene of Michael Brown's death
When you love someone, you can't help but see the world through their eyes.  In a way, it's like God has woken me up.  He's ripped blinders off of my eyes and allowed me to see things for the first time. 

Take this quick example from our church's Sunday School children's curriculum.  (It's used in a gazillion churches in America each Sunday morning.)  

Look at it through my son's eyes.  

Look at it through a historical lens.  (Jarius' daughter wasn't blonde, I can tell you that.)  

What does this subtly teach our children?  

It's simultaneously a beautiful thing and a terrible thing to go through what my counselor calls "major identity shifts."  

"Major identity shifts" are not so easily done when you're in a community that doesn't share them with you.  Honestly, we've endured the stress of feeling alone in our situation.  There is not a single PCA black man in our city for my son to emulate.  Not one.  There are dynamics of raising a black son that most folks in our circles don't understand.  

So part of St. Louis was going to gain some support, even if it would be long-distance.  

When I got to the Justice and Reconciliation conference, I quickly met the African American woman that I've forever idolized on social media.  I'll never forget her words to me upon hearing that I'm an adoptive mama to a brown skinned boy who was forever changed by Ferguson:

"Michael Brown is living in your house.  The advancement of the disadvantaged is now your family crest."

Yes.  Wow.

(I literally stopped her from saying another word while I wrote that down.)

I spoke with another black woman who is a licensed counselor and dean at a seminary about raising a black son, and she, too, spoke truthfully to me about many things, like the need to teach Jameson about interacting with the police in order to save his life.

One by one, each person I met at the conference just "got it."  They gave me the encouragement I needed to hear.

I didn't feel so crazy anymore.

These people loved Jesus, and they longed to see the power of the Gospel reconcile Jew and Gentile, black and white, native american, hispanic, poor and rich.  They knew the power of Jesus' kingdom and how it can break through the Sunday morning segregation, and they were actually doing the multi-ethnic community of which we dream.
with our friend, PCA pastor Irwyn Ince

We came to St. Louis on empty and we left feeling so full and recharged.

We're eager to continue laboring unto the Lord in the area of justice and reconciliation where we are.  I'm starting a small discussion group here in Lynchburg on racial unity.  We're praying that God might bring a multi-ethnic PCA church plant to our city.

And though there will be times we'll feel discouragement and have to remind ourselves that reconciliation is a long, slow work of God, at least we now know we're not alone.  

Thursday, January 12, 2017

white mama at the black barbershop...

 We were LONG overdue for a cut, y'all.

Like, I tend to push times in between cuts anyways, but this time we were WAAAY overdue.

That's partly because the woman who'd been cutting Jameson's hair suddenly and unexpectedly lost her husband (so, so sad- my heart goes out to her), so I've just been a little lost about getting into a new barber.

But it was time.  The hair was not getting any more manageable or detangling on its own...

 I expected the usual... he'd only comply if he sat in my lap to get the haircut.  He'd fuss and push the clippers away.

But no.

Not a whimper.

He sat in his chair and "took it like a man"- ha!

(Caroline and I were beaming with pride in the background, though alot more hair came off than I expected...eek!  That's okay, it's just hair.  Thankfully, his will grow back.)

I asked him later why he didn't fuss at the barbershop like he usually does.  "Mom, I like the boys there."

Well, okay.  A barbershop it is then.

Being a white mama in the black barbershop used to come with some discomfort.  I wasn't used to settings where I was the minority.  But now, this white mama doesn't feel so lily white, and I honestly cherish the moments when my son can be in the majority, as it gives me a small idea of what he experiences every day.

When your child is a different ethnicity from their family, you're (hopefully) looking for opportunities for them to connect with others that look like them.

Jameson knows he's got brown skin, and he notices when people or characters in books look like him. (which is sad how difficult that can be... )  I want him to know who he is and where he comes from.  I don't want my son to grow to be a white man in a black man's body.  I want him to know how to navigate both white and black culture when he's grown.  And since he's naturally going to have alot of white culture being in our family, I've got to be more intentional in bringing in the black culture.

I hear other parents touting themselves on the fact that their children "don't see color," and I wonder, what's so wrong with seeing color?

"Mom, I LOVE the barbershop."
Is there something inherently wrong or shameful about color that we wouldn't want our children to see it?

I want my kids to see color.  I want them to see and recognize and talk with me about the ways God created people in all different countries and cultures in His image.  It's good.  It's beautiful.

Every culture has negative aspects and false stereotypes.  Likewise, every culture displays beauty and God's glory as well.  How is my son's culture more often portrayed?

In my ignorance, I often wondered why there were black churches or black colleges or black barbershops or a black history month or black anything... and yet now, it's all so, so clear.

This mama's heart can only take so much, y'all.  There's so much I could say.  There's so much pain and so much that needs to change in regards to racial reconciliation.

Lord, change our hearts and bring reconciliation to our brokenness.  Help us to listen without getting defensive.  Help us to be patient with those who don't see what we see.  Help us to assess what is true, help us to admit our own fears and ignorance.  Help us to see our sin and our own contributions to racism, whether personally or systemically.  Help us to enter into real relationships with those who are different from us, not in order to rescue them, but in order to learn from them.  Give us a vision of your Kingdom... every tribe and every tongue praising their Creator together... and help us to love Your Kingdom more than our own culture or our own country.  Help us to care not only about what may benefit us, but what might bring shalom for those you loved... the poor, the needy, the broken, and the outcasts.  Amen. 

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

i want to see my birthmommy...

As they grow, I'm watching my kids process their adoptions.

Like everything else in life, Marc and I don't shy away from having real, honest conversation about various topics with our kids.  (Of course, keeping it age-appropriate.)   Sometimes we initiate the conversations, but most of the time they just sort of happen at the most unplanned times.

Like yesterday.

The kids and I were riding in the car across town, and Caroline says, "I wonder if my birthmommy Megan will send me a Christmas gift?"  

To which Jameson, in typical little brother, copy-cat fashion says, "I wonder if my birthmommy L will send me a Christmas gift?"

Then Caroline, in her typical big sister, type A personality quickly jumps in to factually correct Jameson's statement... "NO, Jameson, birthmommy L will not send you a Christmas present.  But maybe your godparents will!"

I felt a twinge of pain for Jameson as Caroline's words left her mouth.  It was not the thing to say, but it was true.  His birthmommy won't be sending him a present.  

Caroline's birthmommy and Mommy
While Caroline enjoys the luxury of having an open adoption with her birthfamily (we call, text, email, visit like extended family), Jameson's birthparents have chosen a mediated adoption, where all correspondence like pictures and updates go through the adoption agency.  We don't have their address, they don't have ours.

"Who are my godparents?" Jameson asked.

"Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed, silly!" Caroline retorted.   (Tiffany is my school-age friend that agreed to be a "godparent" to Jameson in the absence of him having ongoing contact with a birthfamily.)

Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed
Deciding to enter into this escalating conversation with a gentler tone, I explained, "Do you remember, Jameson?  We called Aunt Tiffany when that little girl made fun of your dark skin.  Remember that?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed know ALOT about having dark skin, so anytime you have a question or need to talk about something, we can call them!  Mommy and Daddy know a little bit about it, too."

"No you don't," he said teasingly with a smile from the backseat.  

We all giggled.

"Well, I have a question," Jameson said, and I held my breath in anticipation at what he might say next.

"Why do cars have wheels?"      (HA HA HA HA HA HA!)

So we took a small rabbit trail for a minute to discuss wheels, of all things.  And then Jameson said, "I want to see my birthmommy L.  Can we just text her?  What's her address?"

My heart began sinking. "We don't have her phone number and we don't have her address.  If we want to send her some pictures or write her a letter, we can send it to the adoption agency and they'll send it to her!"  I felt a little like a used car salesman in the moment, like I was trying to make something which is not okay somehow feel okay.

To a four year old, though, it seemed to work.  He wasn't upset, just innocently curious.

"Everyone's adoption is different," I told the kids.  "There are actually 3 kinds of adoptions.  The first is OPEN adoption.  That's what Caroline has with her birthmommy Megan.  And when your adoption is open, you can text or call, you know each other's address, and you can visit them like we visit birthmommy Megan when we go to Texas.

The second kind of adoption is called a semi-open, or a MEDIATED adoption, and that's what you have, Jameson.  That's where you don't know your birthmommy's phone number or her address, and she doesn't know ours, but you can still get in touch with each other through the adoption agency.  We were so lucky to get to meet your birthmommy once when you were 1 month old.

Meeting birthmommy L
The third kind of adoption is called a CLOSED adoption.  That's where you don't know who your birthmommy is at all.  It's like a secret."

"That's sad," Caroline said.  

"Well, I want to see my birthmommy again," Jameson repeated.

"I know, I want to see her, too, son."   

My heart yearns for this for Jameson.  "Maybe we will soon!  Would you like to write to her?  What do you want to say to her?"

He started dictating his letter.  "I'd say, 'Dear Mommy L, We have a brick house and a black car... and a white car.  I love you.  Jameson.'"

(Sigh.  Isn't that precious?)

"That's very nice," I told him. "She would love to know that."

Caroline's card to birthmommy L
I could feel a quiet, longing in my son's silence in that moment.  My eyes filled up with tears and I reflected upon my own life.

"You know, Jameson, sometimes when there's someone in our life we really want to see and can't, God actually gives us other people who can fill in those gaps.  He's given you Mommy, Daddy, and Caroline.  He's given you Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed and so many other people who love you."

My heart could finish the next statement, though... But I want to see my own mommy.

(Okay, I know, I know.  I'm Jameson's mommy, and he knows it, too.  Who's Jameson's and Caroline's real mom?  ME.  I got that.  He's got that.  She's got that.  We're good.  While the mommy/birthmommy thing may feel confusing to others, around here it is just called "normal"!  ha!)

Adoption isn't a "once and done" event like we'd like to think. 

It's not like once a child is placed into a family, birthparents go away and are never thought of again, whether your adoption is open or closed.  

Caroline's birthfamily
Birthparents play a valuable role in their children.  Their DNA is in my family.  For my children to know a birthparent is to know and understand themselves better.  For Marc and I to know our children's birthfamily is to know our children better.  It is such a gift.  

I just want the same for my son someday.

"Mommy, I want Birthmommy L to have a open adoption," Jameson stated matter-of-factly.

At this point, I was fighting back the tears, for I was feeling my son's loss that he has yet to fully understand.

"Me, too.  We can pray for that."

"Now?  Can we pray for that now?" his little voice asked.

"Sure we can." 

Sunday, December 25, 2016

changed and changing...

 I've changed.

And I'm changing.

Life has its way of doing that.

(God does, too.)

I'm not who I used to be.

(And I'm loving it.)

Our family isn't who we used to be.

(And we're loving it.)

Sometimes I wish it didn't feel so isolating and costly
to be different.

But I'm finding there are people
that welcome with open arms
rather than furrowed brows,
and I have found more freedom
to find those
who offer support and love.
 I'm leaving 2016 bruised by its afflictions.

But I'm also leaving it more sure of who I am.

I'm leaving it more sure of who we are.

And I'm leaving it more sure of what we need.

We don't yet have the things we need.

For now, that's okay.

I know they're out there somewhere.

I'll keep looking.

I don't know the where, how, and when.
But now I know the what and why.

God has us on a journey.

"I may not know the way I go, but oh, I know my Guide."     -His Love Can Never Fail (hymn)