So Darlene

I still remember riding bikes to the park at the end of the cul-de-sac. Me on the boys bike, borrowed from an unknowing little brother. And she on her bike (back when riding a bike was still on the agenda). The breeze in her red hair. The sky speckled with bright white clouds. The wind rustling the trees. Nothing really to do. No pressing schedules. Just me and her. And an afternoon all to ourselves.

Darlene. Saying her name brings back a flood of wonderful memories. Little did I know when I met her at our hometown church as a young child that some twenty years later we’d fly across the country and she’d drive a state over to spend time together.

We packed everything we owned and trucked it across the country. Funny how my Daddy would make a profession out of moving people cross-country later. Only this time it was us. I was excited. Scared. Anxious. The goodbye didn’t feel real. Surely I’d see Darlene next weekend. I turned nine on the road. It was the first year I remember not having her at my birthday party.

We went back to visit when I was in fifth or sixth grade. We missed “home”. Things still felt new in Ohio and weird. The accents still felt foreign. Why did everyone assume I knew how to surf? Darlene still felt like home. Funny how you can pick back up right where you left off with a few year gap.

Then came the news that she had saved her money. Not just for her ticket. But for her mom’s too. She came and visited. She stayed for many days. She watched me graduate High School. It was great to have my old friend back. There were no string attached. There was no guilt trip about lack of writing letters. There was no pressure. No expectation. Just her smile. And hugs all around. Good friends are like that. Even with years of “different worlds”.

I can’t quite remember if I found her on facebook or she found me. It’d been so long. College graduation. Marriage. And kid…. soon to be kids. I couldn’t believe it. That same beautiful smile. Those same bright eyes. That same welcome mat. Some things about people never change… especially when they’re so good.

A surprise package came in the mail. The thing weighed a ton. The box was the size of two of my toddlers. The neighbors must have enjoyed watching a very pregnant me drag it in from the strong July heat. The girls’ eyes were huge. I could barely believe my eyes as I read the tag. “From Darlene”. It was packed full of summer fun for the girls. Indoor summer activities. Things I could do with them while remaining in the air conditioning. Tears welled in my eyes. Her generosity stunned me.

And then another package silently came. Two days before my induction date. Hospital bags packed with goodies for the new big sisters and some precious outfits and a welcome-home wreath for our soon-to-be new addition. How could someone be so thoughtful? How could someone have such heart for little girls she had never even met? All I can say is… It’s just Darlene.

And then came our last trip. Funny how for a moment I was nervous. Would it be the same Darlene? She’s married now. And a big professional at work. I mean she travels. And I’m just a stay-at-home Mom. And it blew me away again… how easily she was thrilled to drive from a state away. “I’ll go wherever and do whatever. It’ll be great”. Her smile melted away all my doubts. I had forgotten in a moment who I was meeting up with. It’s Darlene for crying out loud. Darlene!

It was one of those days I wish never ended. Her smile is so contagious. Her heart so kind.

I wish my girls could find a friend like her in life. A friend who doesn’t disappear with distance. A friend who doesn’t just live in the past, but dares to create a present no matter how much time passes. A friend who just cares. No strings attached.

I can only pray I have been that friend to her as well.

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My two favorite red-heads.

– Love ya, Darlene. You’re such a wonderful friend.

By His Hand

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Foster care is hard. Caring for five children is hard. Caring for two babies six weeks apart in age is hard.

Those three sentences are the understatements of the year.

I would be lying to pretend that this was all easy. Mothering these five came so unnaturally and yet naturally to me.

I was always the one to say “I never want to have twins”.

I can still say that.

I don’t have twins.

I have “harder than twins” because my two are on two different need levels, two different sleep levels, two different skill levels and two different “how I understand love” levels while being so close that they are SUPER dependent.

It is hard. Very hard.

And I am thankful that even in the ugliness of the stripping of myself down to my raw haven’t-showered-for-days self, down to the very depths of my sanity shakings… Grace always finds me there.

I cannot do this.

The schedule is exhausting. The workload is intense. The constant lists, the constant balancing, the constant pouring out of everything that I have and everything that I am…

And yet I am blessed to find a groove. To turn and dry my wrinkled dishwater hands and find them… all five of them… smiling and delighting with large legos spread about. Little Man freshly wrapped in a blanket thanks to my toddler, Lil Red knocking down towers that Big Guy and my Commentator delightedly race to build so she can do likewise. And my dear Lil Blondie mothering Little Man and scooting nearby blocks closer to him so he can mouth them.

I don’t deserve this kind of blessing.

I don’t deserve their little hands in mine.

That’s grace for ya.

By the hand of God, our little mashed family of seven somehow works … even in the chaos.

– Thank you, Jesus.

Encouraging the Label

This may officially label me a dork, but I just wanted to share…

I love homeschooling. I love seeing how far she’s come. I delight in her hack-job cutting showing signs of control. I thrill at her choppy pencil lines taking on greater form. It excites me to hole-punch her work and flip back through two years of building skill.

It’s breathing hope into our upcoming Kindergarten work,

It’s such a delight to sit down with my little blondie and count animals. Or be blown away when she correctly identifies colors and numbers. Things I’ve never formally taught her. Things she has absorbed with a light in her eyes.

I just love homeschooling. I love sitting beside them when the lightbulb turns on. I love overhearing my preschooler educating my toddler because she just can’t help but share her worksheets while I’m transferring laundry.

I love watching the mastery and encouraging the efforts pre-mastery.

I just love the slow mornings… just the three of us. While the babies nap and Big Guy is gone fulfilling the state’s requirement of public schooling.

I just love it.

I really just love it.

The paste and the rice play and the sharpened pencils and the crayons and the worksheets.

Yes, I’m one of those dorks.

And I won’t have it any other way.

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What a blessing, indeed!

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