An Honest Conversation

This week I misspelled the word "fundraiser" in a text message and autocorrect changed it to "fun drainer."

Yes, I thought.

That.

Exactly that.

Nothing drains the fun  and the sense of being a grown up  quite like fundraising.  

Here is how it all went down...Our talented and amazing friends, Brandi and Danny Ebersole took Tom and I out to a restaurant over Christmas break and said  nothing close to this, but this is all I heard  basically this, word for word, "Why don't we video tape you ugly crying while you spill your deepest family guts and we will put it on the world wide web for all to see!?"

It took a platter of really disgusting steamed buns and an obscene serving of bread pudding to stuff all my feelings about this proposal. If anyone else on planet earth had asked to make a video of us sharing such a deeply personal experience, I would have punched them in the throat. But, it wasn't just anyone. It was Brandi. Brandi! If anyone could be trusted to delicately handle our baggage with care, it would be her and her sensitive and gifted photographer/documentary making husband, Danny. As fellow adoptive parents, I knew they would know and convey our heart for Harper. And as an adoptee, I knew Brandi would understand the possible implications for Harper, if this were not handled with the utmost care. So, we hesitantly accepted this challenge to initiate a conversation about children with attachment disorders and other special needs that affect a child's ability to make healthy attachments. We all understood that these conversations are frequently silenced because of shame and fear. We knew that our own shame and fear would surface, and would threaten to keep us silent as well.

In fact, there were several occasions where I panic-begged Brandi and Danny to abandon ship, and destroy all footage. But, they believed in our family, and they believed in the power of telling your truth, and they believed in all of you. They believe that you would want to know our story and be a part of a creating a bigger story for our family, one of healing. So, we went forward in good faith that God would use our family's story to bring awareness and hope to someone who needed it, as well as resources and support for our family to be healed. As hard as the public ugly crying was, the fundraiser element is even harder for Tom and me.

It makes me feel like a little girl sitting at a lemonade stand waiting for customers. As an adult, I know that nobody really wants to waste even a dime on the watered down lemonade (that was undoubtedly prepared without any concern for what is sanitary) but we buy it anyways and we dump it out our car windows as soon as we turn the corner. Why do we do this? Because we want to support the little entrepreneur's willingness to be vulnerable and to put themselves out there. I feel like that little girl right now, but with the adult awareness that nobody really wants to waste a single dime on my  problems  lemonade. I feel like that little girl sitting there, with all her ugly hurts and failures exposed before the world, saying do you like my lemonade? 

It is terrifying, and it feels pathetic and humiliating and I keep returning to those moments of panic-begging Brandi and Danny to pretend we never agreed to this project, just to be spared from such feelings of raw transparency. But Brandi's ever-encouraging voice keeps reminding me of a few truths... 

Yes, we have a long and expensive road ahead of us... and yes, we could really use a community of people who are willing to generously walk that road and carry the financial burden along with us. Still her voice gets drowned out by the loud and faithful fear/shame combo that cranks itself up on a regular basis reminding me that "adults don't need money from other people because they should be able to manage on their own!" And ya know what, that is also true. We can manage. If nobody had any desire to partner with us, we would still make every possible sacrifice necessary to get Harper, and our family, the help he needs. But, there is something beautiful about the fact that many of you do desire to partner with us, and some already have.

We are overwhelmed by how many of you have taken the time to comment or share our video. We are overwhelmed by those of you who have generously given financial gifts, as well as gifts of prayer and encouragement. We are overwhelmed that anyone would be willing to pass their words, their dimes and their dollars on to us, so that we can get Harper the best care possible and be relieved of carrying the heavy financial and emotional price tag alone. It is that humbling sense of gratitude that makes me feel a little less like I'm selling refreshments, and a little more like I am the one that is being refreshed.

To view the video, or if you feel led to participate in this mission to bring healing and wholeness to a remarkable boy, our sweet friends have organized this "fun drainer" which we invite you to share with anyone who could benefit from hearing our story. 

http://www.gofundme.com/Capuanosupport

My Child is Not Struggling Because...

Over the past few years, the following things have been offered to us as possible causes for what we are experiencing with Harper. Most of the time the suggestions have been made in love purely out of concern, and occasionally they have been "casually" dropped into a conversation in correction or judgement. Some are shoved down our throats via Facebook articles and blogs. So let's take a look at the disordered attachment cause d'jour. 

We are going through this...

- because we didn't spank him.

- because we spanked him too much.

- because he doesn't have enough structure.

- because we are too rigid with him.

- because he needs tough love.

- because we musn't love him as much as our biological kids.

- because he's the only black/adopted child. (Before Jay.)

- because Jay's adoption is open. (After Jay.)

- because it's genetic.

- because we don't have a nurturing environment.

- because we aren't consistent enough.

- because we are too firm.

- because we were too open with him about his adoption.

- because we weren't open enough with him about his adoption.

- because white couples shouldn't have black children.

- because you shouldn't "mix" adopted and biological children in the same family.

- because he needs to learn self-discipline/self-control.

- because he needs a physical outlet.

- because he doesn't get enough attention.

- because we've let him be the center of attention.

- because we don't follow through.

- because we don't show enough grace.

- because we have let him get away with things.

- because we never let him get away with anything.

- because he needs medication.

- because he needs play therapy.

- because he didn't get enough skin-to-skin contact.

- because we aren't on the same page as parents.

- because we didn't do the family bed. 

- because I didn't wear him in a sling enough.

- because I wore him too much and he got spoiled.

- because I used "separation" tools like strollers, bouncy seats, etc.

- because I didn't nurse him.

- because I did nurse him, and that's unnatural.

- because I let him cry it out.

- because I answered his cries too readily.

- because I am too uptight about what he eats and drinks.

- because I am too loosey goosey and don't have him on a specialized diet. 

- because we don't have a strong enough marriage.

- because we don't pray enough.

- because we've neglected the spiritual element of child-rearing.

- because we over-spiritualize everything.

- because we haven't trained him biblically.

- because I am too distracted.

- because he is too distracted (attention deficit).

- because we have too many kids.

- because we over-analyze.

- because we haven't analyzed enough.

- because we are making the adoption piece too big of a deal/love is enough.

- because we aren't giving the adoption piece enough weight.

- because we followed BabyWise.

- because we didn't follow BabyWise.

- because we eat healthy/he doesn't get enough treats and affection.

- because not local/paleo/organic/free-range/no red dyes/gluten-free/annato-free/preservative-free/dairy-free enough.

- because we aren't conscientious parents.

- because we are helicopter parents.

- because he wasn't taught responsibility.

- because he was given too much responsibility.

- because it's spiritual.

- because it's psychological.

- because it's emotional.

- because it's medicinal.

- because it's chemical. 

- because it's developmental.

- because it's neurological.

- because it's physiological.

- because he should spend more time outside.

- because I don't homeschool.

- because he rode the bus to school.

- because I pulled him out of school.

- because he's not in private school.

- because we aren't in a good school district.

- because our school district is too diverse/other black children are a bad example.

- because our school district isn't diverse enough.

- because we don't have enough black friends.

- because our black friends aren't playing a large enough role.

- because he needs a mentor.

- because he doesn't know enough adoptees.

- because he is too aware of his adoption story.

- because he doesn't know his whole adoption story.

- because he has a learning disability.

- because he's too smart for his own good.

- because he's bored.

- because he has anxiety.

- because we should ignore his behavior.

- because we should put him in a group home.

- because we weren't prepared for adoption.

- because we didn't know what to look for.

- because the adoption industry is crooked.

- because immunizations.

- because food allergies.

- because microwaved plastic.

- because he'll outgrow it.

- because boys will be boys.

- because hormones.

- because high-energy.

- because wheat.

- because....

- because...

- because...

Because, no. Because, shut up. Because... none of this. Or because, all of this. Because, I don't know yet... and because, neither do you. 

But what I do know this... attachment is attachment, sensory is sensory, fetal alcohol is fetal alcohol, autism is autism,  attention deficit is attention deficit. They are not all caused or treated the same way, and many cannot be prevented. Many present co-morbidly (at the same time as another) and so it is hard to distinguish between the two, or three, or four things going on at once. What might look like a parenting problem, may in fact be a neuropsychological disorder. 

There is no fast solve, and I know that is uncomfortable. There is no Facebook timeline article that can shame a mother into solving disorders or dysfunctions like these. There is not a vitamin for autism or  insecure attachment, nor a something-free/something-rich diet that repairs brain-damage caused in-utero. Being shamed into a pro- or anti-something parenting position is not going to be what heals my child.

"If one is sick and desires healing, it is of prime importance that the true cause of the sickness be discovered. This is always the first step toward recovery. If the particular cause is not recognized, and attention is directed to subordinate causes, or to supposed but not real causes, healing is out of the question." 

- David H. Kim (The Lord's Prayer Devotional)

I believe that Harper will be healed. But it will not be quickly, it will not be unexplained or mysterious, and it certainly will not be because I went wheat-free. Perhaps I am wrong, and I do believe that God can and does perform miracles, and perhaps He will choose not to perform an instant miracle healing solely because of my lack of faith here... But I really just believe that God is going to heal him over time. The miracle will be that we all still love each other on the other side of the process. 

Out of the Attachment Closet

I miss writing.

I don't know how to write what I refer to as "secondary content." I am just no good at that. I am a "primary content" kind of girl. I write about what is actually happening to me, right now. And if I write about something from the past, it is because it is what I am dealing with, right now. 

I almost feel dishonest if I write secondary content, it feels like I am skirting the real issue or something, and what is the point of sharing my life if I am just gonna skirt the real stuff.

But, I am in a hard place. My family is in a hard place, and I don't know yet how to share the primary content of our lives with the world in a way that makes the most sense for everyone involved. 

But I miss it. I miss splaying all my baggage out for the perusal of friends and strangers alike, in hopes that one of us gains a little insight, encouragement or, at the very least, the sense the we are not all doing this life alone. I miss writing because I process my life through writing, and right now... I have a lot to process.

So, in relatively vague terms, I am going to share and process the primary content of my life. But it is not just my life in crisis, but the lives of Tom and my children as well. So, please know that I am not trying to be mysterious and string anyone along for the sake of drama... It's truly out of the desire to honor my family.

My oldest son is struggling. He has always struggled, which probably comes as a surprise to anyone who knows him. He, more than any of my kids, is social and charming and engaging and is so loved by people it's like he is the mayor of a small town and everyone knows him and loves him. Everywhere we go, people remember his big, beautiful eyes and charming manners. He has always drawn people in. 

The other side of that is what we have learned is a heartbreaking sense of insecurity in his ability to attach. While he can superficially engage anyone he meets, he has never been able to make and keep deep, authentic attachments. Even to me.

Because of the circumstances of his pre-birth, birth and adoption, Harper has always struggled with attachment. It has always been a very challenging road for him, and for our family... But in the past few months, the effects of Reactive Attachment Disorder have escalated significantly.

We were asked to do an interview about this disorder, to bring awareness and hopefully support to families who are experiencing the exhausting battles we are facing. We agreed and to be quite honest, neither Tom or I remember anything we said. Still, I will soon share the video and I hope that it will reach the mom who has relentlessly loved and pursued her child, only to be violently attacked in return. I hope it reaches the sister who grew up hearing her sibling threaten to kill his mother, or himself, just to make her upset. I hope it reaches the child who spent a lifetime pushing away love, out of fear and self-protection. I hope that it reaches potential adoptive couples, that they would learn the signs to look for early on and be able to intervene at a much younger age than we have. I hope it reaches school social workers and child psychologists who have blown off parents saying "boys will be boys" or "all kids have tantrums" or "have you tried a reward chart?" I hope it reaches my readers and you all know that I have not intentionally kept you all in the dark out of pride or a desire to seem like we have the perfect life or family, but instead, I have had a deep sense of responsibility to protect the sacred story that belongs only to my son.

But now, we are in crisis. And we need support. And it has gotten so bad that there is no longer secondary content, this battle, this primary content, has taken over everything else and has become our exclusive content. So, it's time. I have come to a point where I believe that being isolated and keeping this season of our lives a secret would not protect or honor Harper, but would only isolate our family and ultimately, make him sicker.

So, here we are. Broken and in despair, fighting for our son's precious life, just as he fights against me... believing he too is fighting for his life. I will be blogging throughout this journey, but I don't know what it will look like or how much I will feel free to share. My prayer is that we are able to love Harper into the wholest and healthiest possible version of himself and since we believe in a God who does that very thing, we trust that it is possible. 

Anything You Can Do, I Can (Still) Do Better.

If you missed the previous post where my friend Melissa schools us on all things Ebola and American entitlement, then please read that here before you move on.  I love having Sierra Leone in my mind when I am making decisions about my stuff. Not just my physical stuff (outgrown toys and clothes, absurd amounts of holiday-themed pencils with no tips, and the like), but also my emotional stuff. I tend to be a wanderer. I have struggled with wanderlust for as long as I can remember. I have always had a deep sense that there is something out there that I must pursue in order to find true happiness. I have spent many embarrassing years moving toward this force, this unknown, unnamed, unidentified thing... this mysterious solution.

I have wasted many good years gravitating toward one "solution" after another. Chasing the high of change was something that I was guilty of for so long it's pathetic. A new relationship, moving to a new apartment, setting some goal to work toward, acquiring some item that guaranteed a life of fulfillment and comfort, achieving some sort of success, gaining someone's approval, concealing my flaws, being fit, trim and never gaining weight, gaining so much weight that I would finally have the curves of an actual adult woman... all of these pointless and vain pursuits are actual examples of "fixes" I am guilty of chasing. (Most, if not all, proved to be an exercise in futility, except for acquiring those bodacious curves which, obviously, was a wildly successful endeavor  when I was nine months pregnant and not a moment after. )

So, yes, I have a long history of vanity and self-obsession. Surprise! I have struggled with comparing myself to others for about.... hmmmm a lifetime or so. Minimizing this month has made me aware of how far I have come in some ways (I no longer believe that there is some "fix" but I know there to be an actual solution to my discontentment, something  - or rather someone worth pursuing. I have learned that knowing Jesus and being covered by His perfect work on the cross, and knowing that His grace is enough for me has allowed me to be just a tiny bit less absurd as a person. Now, when I do catch myself wandering in my mind to the illusion of greener grass, or lusting after some thing that promises to solve all my problems, I can at least stop myself and know that I am believing a lie.

In other ways, I know that I have made very little progress. Below is a post I wrote more than THREE YEARS AGO. I get into the nitty gritty of how sick of a woman I really was and sadly, still am. Re-reading it has revealed that while I am purging all this "stuff" I no longer need, I have not made much progress in uprooting the the deeply embedded cause of my desire to have more: jealousy and comparison.

Here is an (unfortunately still-relevant) assessment of the damage that this comparison trap has had in my life, called Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better, which I wrote back in the summer of 2011. Beware, this was written when I didn't have the energy to capitalize sentences. 

--

i might have a seriously major problem.  comparing myself to others has been a lifelong infection of mine.  i intentionally choose the word infection because that is what it is.  infection is defined as being tainted or contaminated with something that affects quality, character, or condition unfavorably. 

comparing myself to others is something that affects life's quality, my personal character and the condition of my heart unfavorably.  i am a sick, sick woman.

i think that this infection (for me) started at childbirth.  i was born 18 short months after my organized and athletically gifted sister, who could do almost anything better than me.  she was a more disciplined student, a much better athlete, and she always had her uniforms washed by game day.  comparatively, i was a bright, but distracted student who rarely "applied herself."  i was mediocre at sports, and had to sneak out of school during my lunch hour to go home and wash my uniform on game day.  and i usually washed the home jersey for away games, and vice versa.  my antics irritated my sister, and almost anyone in a position of authority.

don't get me wrong, i wasn't a complete idiot.  i'm just a little more free-spirited than your average apply-oneself-er.  it's not that i got bad grades, they just didn't reflect my potential.  one semester in college, i decided that i would actually try to get a 4.0.  i had 18 credit hours that semester, so it was the perfect time to see if i really had what it takes to ace a challenging course load.  i got a 4.0.  i didn't tell anyone at the time, and i never tried to apply myself so thoroughly ever again.

while i may not have told anyone, i kept track of that achievement in my mind.  if someone out-performed me in school... i could always say "well, if i had applied myself, i would have done just as well."  (comparison: victory for me.)  it is really out of self-preservation that i needed a secret comparison victory like this, because i spent the other 99% of my life feeling bad about the losses in most comparisons:  "wow, that girls has incredibly thick hair, but not frizzy-thick, her hair is smooth, shiny, pantene-commerical-thick. my hair isn't so much thick, as it is big.  not pantene-big, but 80's-big."  (comparison: loss for me.)  "her kids know all their state capitols??  and they recite the old testament in its entirety out loud before dinner?  and they eat the egg whites?  unsalted!?  she is super mom.  i'm the worst."  (comparison: loss for me.)  "but, her kids don't understand dry humor."  (comparison: victory.)

do you see what i mean?  i'm totally sick and infected.  it's like the circular argument i am constantly having in my head:  i am the worst-----> at least i'm not as bad as that guy-------> i am a total fool-------> she acted dumber than i did--------> i wish i could be her-----------> i could probably beat her up in a survival situation-----------> i would never act like that!----------> i can't believe i acted like that----------> i'm the worst----------> i can't believe that i am seriously the best.

sick. twisted. infected.

i hate comparing myself to others.  i usually lose out to some busty broad who fills out her dress like a proper adult... and to make myself feel better, i try to find a comparison victory to make myself feel better.  so, i search and i come up with something like, at least i know not to wear the sock/sandal combination that lady is rockin'.  it's horrible, and it doesn't make me feel better.  it makes me feel like a huge jerk.  which leads to "well, at least i'm not as big of a jerk as...."

if all of you egg my house tonight, i will understand why.  i just egged it for saying this stuff out loud.

so, i have been contemplating the comparison trap.  i have realized that it leads (in my mind) to some perceived loss or victory.  the losses, obviously, make me feel horrible.  and the victories make me feel a little better for a hot second, but ultimately make me feel horrible.  the trap is this: "victories" lead to pride (sickening), or "losses" lead to self-loathing (sickening.)  either way, comparing myself to others makes me more and more self-focused and sickening by the second.  so, i quit.

i am giving up comparisons.  i am choosing to believe that i am fearfully and wonderfully made, and so is everyone else.  no better, no worse.  we are all made in the image of a good and perfect God who is neither impressed by my "victories", nor disgusted at my "losses."  so, i am choosing to agree with God on who i am, and who others are.  i am going to stop measuring myself against other women, and start measuring myself against who i know God created me to be.

this is going to be really hard because it all happens in my head where there is zero accountability.  so, if you see me deep in thought, just slap me right across the face as hard as you can because i am, undoubtedly, comparing myself to someone else.  i will gladly do the same for all my sisters out there who are stuck in this same sick trap of comparing ourselves, and our families, and our gifts, and our faults, and so on...

i'll even bet i can slap harder than you can slap.

--

So, I have decided that since I have clearly not grown up at all in the past three years, I am going to use the comparison trap to my advantage. I WILL compare myself to others, but I will strive to compare my current state of affairs not to that of the average American woman, but to the women of Sierra Leone. This comparison can not possibly lead to one of those ugly "victories or losses" but I am finding that this comparison leads to the acknowledgement that I am sitting on a life that overflows with an embarrassment of riches. Knowing this leads to an overwhelming need to be more generous and more grateful, and I believe that generosity and gratitude are the antidote to a life of discontentment, excess or wanderlust. And if I cannot solve the myriad of crises in Sierra Leone, I can, at the very least, be aware, and my hope is that I could honor their struggle by living a life in response to, and in light of, that awareness.

Minimize with Meaning - Week One

Hi again... Did you enjoy my week of silence as much as I did? Well, don't get used to it because I am back with loads of thoughts and opinions and shenanigans to share. For example, I have committed myself to a little project for the month of November that I am calling #theminimalistproject. I have been doing a lot of  mindless websurfing  research about becoming a minimalist and since I love swinging from one extreme idea to another, I thought "Yes, let's!" To be clear, I am not getting too technical with the term "minimalism," I am more interested in purging whatever is unnecessarily in my life and home, as well as raging against excess, and an entitled American mindset. So, for the month of November I am attempting to become (my version of) a "minimalist." The challenge is quite simple, on Day 1, you get rid of 1 item. On day 2, 2 items. Day 3, 3 items. (If you need me to keep walking you through the rest of the month, I invite you to never read my blog again, because, no.)

Days 1-8 have been, quite honestly, very simple for me because I am - by nature - a purger. I do not like to hold on to things, for the most part. I will share embarrassing proof of my de-cluttering... but, for now you will have to take my word for it, because I wanted to kick off this project with a little perspective, which my friend Melissa  was manhandled into giving  happily agreed to offer. I will let her tell you her story, but here is what you need to know about Melissa:

1. She's the best.
2. She's smarter than you.
3. Don't worry, you aren't alone, she's smarter than all of us. Maybe combined.
4. She is humble and generous and amazing.
5. She might look like she hated posing for this engagement-style photo of the two of us, but she actually has it in an 8x10 above her mantle. 

Without further ado... I give you, Sweet Melissa.

--

Greetings from Freetown, Sierra Leone.  It is perfectly fair to say that baby Jaylen’s arrival was the catalyst to my friendship with Lara, but as a childhood friend of Tom I knew of Lara’s blog and was an admirer of her writings for years - so it’s cool to be able to say a few things on here as a little contributor and not simply be known as the girl who hates kindness.

**warning  - this post is gonna get a little intense. But I know you can handle it.**

I send you well wishes from this vibrant country where the only things more beautiful than the landscape are the people. I was shocked at how gorgeous this place is with its rainbow of scenery --  a dance for the eyes.  Red clay roads along white beaches hugging sapphire pacific waves with green palm-covered hills jetting out the sandy coastline. There isn’t a single window with a bad view.  Also Sierra Leoneans are ridiculously attractive. I told my friends I’m surprised there aren’t modeling scouts here on a regular basis because wow. And almost every night I stand on my hotel balcony, and pray, and watch the sun go down because this happens

and this happens    

                                                                                         

Although this place could be paradise – it is not paradise.  Sierra Leone has suffered through years of war, exploitation, corruption, and disease. Only 35% of the people can read. There is limited access to healthcare. Education is meager. Jobs are scarce. And the people are poor – very poor.

…and now…Ebola. 

Although good work is being done here the infection numbers are still on the rise because these people were already so vulnerable and the region so challenged. I told Lara a couple weeks ago that she should use her powers for good and tell America to stop freaking out over Ebola. It was infuriating to see what I see here, to hear what I hear here, and then turn on BBC and watch another story about the Ebola panic machine taking over the United States. That unjustified terror was affecting aid relief here in West Africa and even now is rippling with unfortunate consequences. So let me simply and lovingly say that I’ve been here for a month and I don’t have Ebola - and you won’t get it either. 

Ok scolding moment over.

I’m here in Freetown working with the U.S. Embassy in their public affairs/communications office.  Yesterday we conducted a program for the sowie population about Ebola and how to prevent transmission. Sowies are women tribal leaders who are influential in their communities and are often sought after during times of illness or death. Seventy percent of Ebola transmission cases here are due to unsafe burial practices so we had to educate the sowies on how to care for their community without performing traditional burial duties. 

Sowies are lively and colorful and are generally older members of society. But I noticed a lot of younger women and made a remark to my colleague about one in particular, “Marilyn, did you see that one? She was so young. She looked like she was 12.”

“Did you see she wasn’t wearing shoes?”

“No.” I said.

“She doesn’t have any shoes.”

And that’s all I could think about for the rest of the day. 

I just kept repeating that over and over in my head.  “She doesn’t have any shoes.”

Ok - I live in New York City and sadly am no stranger to poverty or passing a neighbor who lives on my street….literally….on the street.

But I was so consumed by the Ebola prevention training that I didn’t even notice she wasn’t wearing shoes.

People. I’m only here in Sierra Leone for about a month. And I brought 9 pairs of shoes with me.  Three pairs of heels, three flats, one pair of rugged hiking shoes, one pair of sneakers, and one pair of flip flops. 

“She didn’t have any shoes.”

Even writing that now makes my stomach clench and my chest tight and my eyes water and yet I still have 9 pairs of shoes strewn about the floor of my hotel room. 

There was a similar moment a few weeks ago that sent me into that same soul spin which I wrangled Lara into when I sent her this picture

Lara asked if they were playing and I said no, “they’re collecting drinking water from the ground.  Look closely.”

“I was afraid of that,” she said.

I couldn’t get those little ones out of my head. I told Lara that I stood on the balcony of my nice hotel that night and sobbed like an infant because I felt like such an ass. Here I am, up here with my ocean view - and there you are, little ones, with your puddles of drinking water.

That image also had an effect on our faithful blogger because the following day Lara sent me this message, “Our texting was very convicting to me last night. Which is what I needed. I am in that mode where I am exhausted, and drained emotionally, and just feeling done. And it makes me want to go to Jamaica.  And I really mean that. I believe I NEED to go on a vacation. REALITY CHECK: I need clean water. Check.”

I know the next segment of posts from Lara will focus on the “stuff” in our lives. And knowing Lara I’m sure she will touch on all the different layers of stuff that we pile up. There’s the stuff that clutters up our homes and makes us reluctant to let guests in. And there’s the stuff that clutters up the deepest recesses of our hearts that makes us VERY reluctant to let Jesus in.

But maybe if Jesus had access to those deepest darkest mustiest places in our hearts -- maybe we wouldn’t be so unnecessarily fearful (about Ebola in the U.S. or life in general), maybe we wouldn’t be so obsessively, and often times unknowingly, materialistic (about shoes or life in general),

maybe we would have wisdom to know how to be good stewards of what we’ve been given in this world (so babies don’t have to drink rainwater off the street), maybe we could be more like some of the people I met here in Sierra Leone. They would give you the shirt off their back, and for some of them it would be their only shirt. 

Matthew 25:34-36 Then the king will say to those at his right hand, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me."

  

Ok that was a really heavy post so I’m gonna conclude with this picture because a woman with a head full of maxi pads is awesome and needs to be shared with the world.