Power Beyond Prayer

I'm sure some of you have heard the song "I Refuse" by Josh Wilson. I have just loved it since the first time I heard it on KLove here in Indy, but I actually didn't know who it was (cue infomercial on the tragedies of adult ADD).

Let's rewind a bit.

My sister so amazingly drove over from Cincinnati one day in September and took me to the first night of Steven Curtis Chapman's Songs and Stories tour. I had no idea what I was in for.

Wait.

I know that I love SCC and his music and his family and his . . . everything. But I didn't know he'd put together this tour with Josh Wilson and Andrew Peterson or what they were attempting to do. (I'd never actually heard of Josh Wilson or Andrew Peterson.) They are essentially re-creating when they (and other musicians) get together in little ol' Nashville and play songs and tell stories on their own time.

That evening was the bombdiggity. It felt like we were sitting around their little circle with them - laughing, crying, joking, telling on each other. They made the auditorium feel like a porch on a warm summer night, a starry evening around a bonfire, a group of friends hanging out in the family room.

So when Josh Wilson performed his song, "I Refuse," I was so excited to realize it was him! There are several videos of his that I would like to share, but I shall pace myself. I love the song, but I love more the power of its message and what drove him to write it, which he explains here.



I highly encourage you to catch one of the dates on this tour - it's an amazingly fun, insightful, personal evening.

Engage!

I love what God is doing in my son's college-age ministry at White River Christian Church. Engage. Simple but as powerful as one - or a whole group - makes it. I love the leaders. I know most personally and completely adore them. They have loved Alexx since we moved back here from Houston, TX, and joined the church when he was 14. He's grown with them from early teenhood into the man he is becoming now at almost 21, and they have shaped his faith as much as any human can.  

I have to say here that I trust them implicitly. We have had situations and issues through the years that have shown the love and Christ-like ways that they deal with the kids in the ministries that they have committed to. They truly have their eye on the ball where these kids are concerned - our kids. They keep an eternal perspective with a current outlook. They never seem to forget (like I often to as a parent) the big picture - that what matters absolutely the most is where the hearts of these growing, impressionable kids are. And if they are in the hands of the Lord, then the rest is absolutely able to be dealt with. 

I wish I were one of their "kids" sometimes!

These kids, who are really no longer kids at all, are the greatest group of fun, loving, God-following people you will every meet. I have the pleasure of spending time with those who are closest to Alexx when they hang out at our house, and Sean and I love every minute of it. They are each just awesome, super people. In fact, we are probably ruining them one evening at a time when they spend time here. 

From the concept of the the Engage ministry to today has been so amazing to watch from the outside. Alexx would come home and tell me about what they were talking about starting . . . how things were coming along ...  Naming the group, talking about its direction, ideas for this and that ...  Watching him grow through being involved in the growth of something bigger than himself ...  It's all been such a blessing in this mama's eyes.

I know that from the inside, it has been phenomenal; and I would have loved to have been a part of that. But if I had been, then Alexx would not be who he is today. He would not have been comfortable growing and opening and sharing and becoming the someone that he is continuing to become with me anywhere near it; and I respect that process completely. I am incredibly grateful for it, as a matter of fact. I have been able to share the raising of my son with some of the most amazing people on the planet. And they are doing a KICK. BUTT. JOB.

This is a video that one of the Engage group members has put together just to show a tiny bit of what this group does on a weekly basis together.

I am 40, they are college age - and I want to be like them when I grow up.

The Essence of My Faith

Simply put. A graphic, graphic reminder of what we Christians already know, but tend to lose sight of in the rigors of daily life. I watch the movie "Passion of the Christ" about once a year. My stomach is in knots every time I watch it. I don't view it as entertainment. My mind and heart view it a historical account, well captured in film.

I want to feel that sickening feeling to bring me back to the absolute truth of the sacrifice God made for each of us. Every single one of us.

Couple scenes from that with (as you all know well), my favorite band EVAH singing one of my favorite songs of theirs - and it brings me to humble tears every time.

Warning: Graphic images/scenes

Crazy Disciplined or Just Plain Crazy?

This is bad on several levels.

This is Joshua. Joshua is our 10-month-old American Bulldog mix. We adopted Josh at 11 weeks old. More on Josh's story in another post. All you need to know now is that Josh was born deaf and began training at 9 weeks old and we continued until he was around 6 months. We communicate to him using sign language. He's well-trained, but a lot of that is simply due to the fact that he has a great personality. Dogality? Caninality?

Anyway, Josh is crazy about his food. When his internal clock for meal time goes off, he is relentless. He acts a bit obsessive, not leaving you alone, "complaining" (sort of a whine/yawn) to you - trying to tell you that HE'S HUNGRY ALREADY. By the way, he only does this whine/yawn complain at three times: when he's hungry, when he needs to go outside, and when he's ready to go home from Club Canine and I keep standing and talking to my boss and he's run out of patience with me.

Another piece of vital information to this short story that is getting long is - I am a bit obsessive myself about what my dogs eat. And about my dogs in general. Okay, about almost everything. (Shut it, Mrs. Zipps.) They eat pretty high-quality food that I decided on after too much research. They get fish oil tabs for their skin. They take Benedryl for their skin and eyes. I put yogurt on top of all that for the live cultures (do your own research). Get it? The only people food I let them "snack" on is baby carrots, green beans, and cheese.

Here's where it gets bad.

As you know, I work at Club Canine, a doggie daycare and boarding facility, along with my 20-year-old son. Josh goes to work with both of us. So Josh and I were on our way to work Sunday afternoon when I found my stomach growling because I'd gone straight from church to pick Josh up and go to work. I WAS HUNGRY ALREADY.

So I got a kids' meal at Wendy's (insert shameful head bow). I know! So bad for me. But it was a kids' meal and not a clog-every-artery-and-just-kill-me-here-and-now regular size or (gulp) extra value meal. Don't judge.

Here's where it gets more bad.

I couldn't eat all the fries. So I gave Joshua one. (insert huge shameful head bow along with shaking head). Oh God, please forgive me, I know. Fine - I insert it into my own system. But to give it to my dog? My innocent, can't-choose-food-for-himself dog? Who trusts me to care for him in the best possible way?! My dog who ate two junebugs last night at work?! Wait, that doesn't support my point.

He loved, of course, every salty, greasy bite. So my dog heart ran rampant over my dog head and I gave him another. And this went on for a mile or so. Every time I would give him one, he'd gobble it down and look back up at me with those huge, sweet, puppy eyes and I would hear Oliver Twist croon, "Please ma'am, I want some more."

So I switched to putting a few down on the middle console so he could get them himself. And do you know what happened? DO YOU KNOW? He wouldn't eat them. He'd just look up at me until I signed to him "okay" and then he'd grab them and gobble them down. This is what he did every time I put more there until the fries were gone.

He is well-behaved and well-trained, but he is also a dog.

So again, I ask you - crazy disciplined or just plain crazy?

Wow.

It has been a long, long time for this writer not to have written. There are so many contributing issues, the least of which is the "m" button that popped off my laptop. I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to re-secure the &*#$% thing to no avail.

The issues surrounding our family are growing up, meaning it is no longer appropriate for me to write about them on a public forum. Just know that two kids on the autism spectrum plus a host of other unmentionable challenges continue to plague our family, which is actually what has kept me far from this keyboard in recent months.

I am trying, folks, to keep up and am doing a miserable job. My house is total wreck, my new workroom 3/4 of the way finished, friendships moved on . . . life is generally kind of crappy right now.

The good, you ask?

My marriage is as happy and solid as ever. We cling to one another for dear life through these things, and laugh at as much as we can.

I continue to love my job wrangling anywhere from 23-45 dogs at a time and taking care of a smaller group on the weekends. These dogs are one of the greatest loves of my life. I enjoy them immensely. And the cleaning? Well, that's just icing on the cake for this obsessive, OCD woman who can't keep a square inch of her own home clean raising three boys. The dogs are cleaner and more responsible than my children.

My boys may be frustrating and hard to deal with at times, but they are God-loving young men. This is something I need to keep at the forefront of my mind when wanting to roll their heads down the sidewalk. Mrs. Zipps is very, very good at reminding me of this when I walk across the lawn to cry on her shoulder (or shoot angry lasers from my eyes). Perspective. If Jesus came back today, my whole family would go back with him - even if dishes from three days ago were sitting on the computer desk.

The puppy we adopted in December - the deaf American Bull Dog who, as a foster pup, came to Club Canine one day and stole my heart - is AMAZING. He is the bombdiggity and I'm not even kidding you, here. He is smart and loving and snuggly and tolerant and well-behaved and and and ... I can't say enough good things about him. Perhaps I should just write this blog about him and change the name to JOSHUA AND HIS VENTURES AS AN AMAZING DOG.

As always, I have the best mom and dad and sister and brother and brother and sister-in-law and nieces and nephews that anyone could ever, ever ask for. Without them, I would be toast. And not the good kind with real butter and cinnamon sugar.

And. AND this morning the guys are here installing our new heat pump/AC/whatever so we will stop melting in our own skin. Life is good! Right?

Yes. It's finally summer, no more snow and ice and dreary, colorless landscapes. Indiana corn and Indiana melon are on their way. The Farmers' Markets are finally back. My tomatoes and herbs are growing. I hear birds chirping outside my workroom window. I smell my lilac bush. Tomorrow is the last day of school for the younger boys.

I can do this.

Crazy Dog Chick

I work at Club Canine, a dog daycare/boarding facility. It is the love of my life. After my husband and kids, of course. Right?

I love my job so much because I love the dogs so much. This has been at the foundation of my personality since day one, according to my mom. I have the dog gene, as we say in our family. 

Today at work, my boss is out for the day, so I am up front greeting clients and taking the dogs in instead of being in the playroom. It is the middle of drop-off time and dogs and clients are in and out the door at a steady pace.

As one client walked in with her two dogs, I looked up with tears streaming down my face. This is where the Crazy Dog Chick title comes in to play. Do you think she expected to arrive to doggie daycare to a bawling woman? I doubt it, but it couldn't be helped.

And this is why.

Last fall, my boss looked up at me through the playroom window one day in much the same manner as she sat at her computer and I was in with the dogs - though hers was an expression of shock. She'd just found out that a woman she'd become online friends with through a forum for dog daycare owners had passed away in a car accident. Cristal was a woman she'd never had the pleasure to meet in person, but a friend just the same.

This morning, I happened upon something beautifully moving that Cristal's husband, Marcus, wrote recently; which is what made those tears flow at that very inopportune time. When I innocently picked up the printout from my boss's desk and began reading, I didn't know my heart would soon be caught in my throat.

What Marcus wrote struck me as both incredibly sad and beautifully inspiring. Some scoff of human-pet relationships; but as a lifelong dog-lover, I can tell you that for those of us who feel it, these relationships are very real and mean the world to us.

Marcus and his wife, Cristal, started Mile High Mutts together in Denver, Colorado. Here is what Marcus wrote:

I wanted to thank the many people who have expressed their condolences over the last six months. In the weeks after the accident I was truly overwhelmed with the outpouring of support from all over the country. I've kept my head down trying to just put one foot in front of the other. Something happened recently that told me it was time to lift up my head and reach out. A dog died at our facility! The ultimate nightmare scenario that keeps all daycare owners up at night happened to me. It didn't play out the way I imagined. No news crews and lawyers, just love . . . all kinds and so much love.

Chief was our customer for over 6 years. His mom does a great deal of business traveling so he stayed with us often. He was stubborn, independent and fierce. He was a favorite. 

He was diagnosed with liver cancer and was told he would not make it to Christmas. That was Christmas of 2009! He made it to that Christmas and the one that followed. Slowly, over the months, he withered. Fed the best of food, he was still losing muscle tissue and weight. We talked about the usual end-of-life decisions and concerns . . . no one wanted to see him suffer.

I just listened to Chief . . . really listened. He told me he wasn't done yet. He would come in every morning barking up a storm. Now, anyone who knows how we run our operation knows we jump all over barking and do not allow it. When Chief barked I would say, "sing to me!" And it was music.

Christmas 2010 came and went and Chief still had an appetite and still sought me out anytime I was in the pack. He went beyond what the vet said he could do. Six months on heart and another six months on stubbornness. The final six months was because he just didn't know how to give in.

At the end, he talked to me again. He told me he was done. He told me he would never get up again. I called his mom and said it was time. I don't think I could have said it on my own, but I was able to relay a message from Chief. She said she didn't want him euthanized at a vet clinic. She didn't want him transported home. She wanted Chief's last moments to be at Mile High Mutts. I was . . . humbled. I made the arrangements for a vet to come and she flew home. We all said our goodbyes and then Chief was gone. It was an honor. And honor to know him and an honor to help him. 

After the car accident, I didn't know what to do. Thankfully, I just listened to the dogs. In the pack, I felt some measure of peace. The daycare was our first baby. We took out a second mortgage, maxed out seven credit cards, quit our jobs and gave birth to Mile High Mutts. 

Taking care of my three babes has been all-consuming these last six months. But I think back to a day in the pack. I was so tired I wanted to sit . . . to relent. It was my first holiday season without Cristal. There comes a day when an alpha dog sits down . . . and is no longer an alpha dog. I looked across the yard at Chief . . and he looked back. I am still standing.

They have so much to teach us, these dogs. We just have to listen.

Death ends life, but often brings life in other ways. Marcus has a long road ahead raising his young sons without Cristal, but it sounds like his heart is moving in the right direction.


photo by Daniel Mohorovic

Gosh, This Really Kinda Stinks.

So, it's been awhile. Probably due to the contents of the previous post. Not much has changed.

I am focusing my emotions on things that are sure bets right now for sheer survival.

Sure bet #1: I love my job. No matter how obnoxious and chaotic it is at work, I am happy. Yesterday we had 40 dogs by 9:00 a.m. It seemed that most of them either forgot we have a dog door or were uninterested in going into the potty yard that is a wet mess right now due to all the melting snow that the city of Carmel transported and dumped in the parking lot that we share. The playroom seemed as great a place as any for all of them to pee and poop and puke in. All. morning. long.

The barking was out of control - as out of control as I let it get with my outstanding use of the shrill fingers-in-the-mouth whistle that I perfected as a teenager. Our two biggest howlers were on site yesterday trying their best to out-shrill my whistles. This gets the whole group going into "howl fests" which makes you want to crawl into a hole and dig to China when you have the noise sensory issues that I do.

But this all makes me happy because it is an escape. Plus these dogs love you no matter what. And they listen better than human kids do.

Sure bet #2: My husband is my best friend; and we cling to one another like plane crash survivors floating in the sea sharing a raft. We are both feeling completely defeated right now, but to turn on one another like so many spouses do in times of turmoil has never been our style. We are the ones who, floating on that raft, joke about the sharks circling us and make fun of that one's weird, bent fin. A little maniacal, yes, but that's just us. Ever hear us joke about autism? This is why. Caught a piece of a completely inappropriate conversation we are having and laughing about while walking through Sam's Club? This is why. We are surviving the best way we know how - by making light of it - or anything - for a laugh. Because laughter is our life support.

Sure bet #3: My family. My mom and dad, brother and sister - they are more than anyone could ask for. I can tell my sister that a mental breakdown is imminent, and the next thing I know, she is here. And we are laughing and peeing our pants in a restaurant and crying over emotions surrounding her recent trip to visit one of her adoptive sons' birth family. She doesn't try to solve anything, or tell me what I'm doing wrong or shake her finger at how I'm acting or feeling. She just listens, and hugs me, and laughs with me. I can text with my brother that I just received yet another teacher email, and he's texting right back with me no matter what he's doing at the time. I can call my mom and dad, and no matter which one of them answers, I can just start unloading or come undone without worrying about what they will say or do. I know they understand because they spend so much time with my kids and us that they feel it, too.

Sure bet #4: I know I have certain people praying very hard for my family. And no matter how much faith I am losing myself, they are rock solid for us.

Beyond these things right now, I'm not feeling very emotionally confident about much of anything else. In fact, losing confidence in just about everything else is what I'm doing. I feel incredibly lonely.

The sharpest bite right now is the bitterness over the feeling that much of what I do is one way. Meaning, when I stop doing what I'm doing, then it becomes painfully obvious that I was the only one moving - the only one pouring myself into whatever it is. I can plug this algorithm into a number of areas, and the outcome is, well, just like you think it would feel.

The good thing about that is this (see? still trying to find the good ...) - my house is a complete and utter trashed disaster. Since I can't tell you the last time another adult - anyone - came to my house besides my mom, dad, and sister - and my family for Christmas (see sure bet #3), it's not so bad that it's so out of control. I know that no one will ever see it.

So I go, go, go. I go to the church and do my volunteer job. So I see people then. And I go to work - so I see people then. I go to run errands, so I see people in stores. I go here and I go there. I go because if I don't do the going, I don't have the interaction. But you know what? I've recently become tired of the going. And the planning. And the doing.

I have started not doing the going unless I have to. Which, of course, isolates me more, which amplifies the feelings, which makes it all the more painfully obvious that I do all the doing. But, that's just the way it has to be. I'm sitting back, getting a clear, true picture of my life - taking stock, taking score, seeing what's true and what I thought was true but was really all just me making something work - and moving from there.

I don't know where it will take me, but a clear picture is coming forth. And no matter how painful it is, it's something that is true and unmanipulated by me. This is what I need to see. Because you know what they say - when you keep doing the same things and getting the same disappointing results, why are you surprised? Right now, I am doing what I have to do and that is it.

This is me not doing the same things and hoping for different results. So far, the results are even more disappointing - but they are different. This is what I need to see and figure out.

And I will, with my best friend and a lot of inappropriate laughter.

Broken.

 Hello, internet. How are you?

I've been seriously bogged down with life lately. I have so much to write about on here, but no time with which to write it. Life with two kids on the autism spectrum alone makes life in this home spin out of bounds. Add to that the normal things of everyday life - seven-year-old's basketball season, the new dog and his training, working part-time, volunteering, running a household with three boys, and trying to get fundraising up and going for the 12-year-old's mission trip - and there is little left over.

I've been trying my best to get through it with my chin up, but this past couple of weeks have been overwhelmingly discouraging in the parenting arena. I feel like it's Sean and me in one corner and Goliath in the other, but neither of us has a sling shot or enough faith to even get out of the fetal position.We are defeated.

So we just cling to one another and keep trying. But the trying is losing steam. Fast.

I know I can't just give up. But I am out of reserves and am feeling like I'm wandering through the hot, sunny desert in need of just a drop of water. I see mirages in the form of weekly therapy and meds that cost us over $600/month. But lately those seem just like that - something that looks to be effective, yet in the end things don't change. Leaving ourselves with nothing left after each paycheck with little obvious return right now is a hard pill to swallow.

I want to scream at teachers that I DON'T KNOW anymore. PLEASE DON'T CALL ME OR EMAIL ME. I want to be one of those parents who sends their kids to school with the attitude that my kids are their problem from 7:30-2:30 and that education and behavior there is not my deal.

So apparently I want to be completely irresponsible.

All of this sounds awful and horrible and so unlike me. This is what I am saying. I am not me right now and am having a helluva time finding a reason not to chuck it all and just say whatever. There are tons of rotten parents out there whose kids somehow turn out great. And my trying to be as excellent a parent as possible is turning out a lot like turning on a full blender without the lid.

A gigantic mess.

There is so much more than I am willing to write about here. Our home is not a happy one right now, and this saddens me the most. Because all Sean and I really want at the end of the day is peace in our home. Laughter with our kids. Fun. Contentment.

I know the most important thing is one to focus on. Every person in this home is a Christian. To that end, we have done our job as parents. We have given our children the gift of God and what he has for us and they have each chosen his path.

I know that life here on earth is messy and may be horrible every day until we go to heaven. I know these things. But really? Just a little easier for a little while would be so nice.

I know this is all very selfish and whiny. For that, I'm sorry.

Now I will go hug a puppy.


photo by Bartek Ambrozik

It Was All About Me

God snatched me away from my reality and put me somewhere else while something very bad was happening at home. He knew what he was doing; and because of that, I got to live five days that were all mine. Not mentally or emotionally (with all that was going on in my home without me), but physically. All. Me.

I:
drank my weight in coffee (and found out where to get the greatest coffee drink I've ever had).

slept much less than I thought I would (didn't want to miss anything).

leaped from a still-moving vehicle to run after members of my favorite band walking down the street.

had a "Modern Family" marathon with my brother and sister which may have caused a hernia ("DON'T CALL ME A RAT! SHE KILLS RATS!").

tried to sweet-talk my way with a security guard at Raleigh/Durham airport back into a restricted area for the sake of Starbucks (didn't work).

ate some jalapeno hush puppy funnel cake. Wrap yer mind around that.

learned how to make homemade Kahlua. Homemade Kahlua!.

got pulled aside and searched by airport security because of a jar of baby food.

carried on a conversation with an old man on a plane about Butler U. basketball. Those of you know me know how ridiculous of a concept this is. He was half deaf and so am I, so it worked out fine.

sat back and let my brother and sister take care of me. Because life would still be here, waiting on me, when I returned home.

What Happened? Part 1.

A little over a month ago, while texting with my brother, whom I’m very close to, about how downhill things have been going recently with middle dude (who has Asperger’s and a mood disorder) and other life issues, he apparently concocts a plan within his cunning mind right then and there. He is determined to shuttle me out of my life for awhile by flying me to Raleigh, NC (near their home), taking me to see my favorite band in concert (for the 7th or so time) and spend a couple of days in Asheville, and making me spend time being taken care of instead of doing things for others.
 
Against every protest coming from me regarding money and anyone’s ability to pay for plane and concert tickets for me at this time, he is determined. He reprimands me for arguing with him like I’m 9 and he’s 18 again. Before the end of the day he has made airline reservations, purchased concert tickets, and I’m going regardless of my near inability to accept things like this from others.
 
As my trip approaches, I find out that it has been a combined financial effort of family members to get me away. I honestly can’t wrap my mind around someone else wanting to do this for me – even my own family. But these people love me like no one else. They never get in a snit and decide I’m not worth their time. They never turn on me, no matter how much my life’s issues splatter all over them. They recognize my strengths and praise them; they see my weaknesses and try to help fill in the gaps. They make me feel like I matter. They do not say the words, “You matter,” to me; their actions show me that I matter.
 
Do you have any idea what it feels like to have someone see a need that you have, step in to fill it regardless of all they have going on in their own life – simply because of the love they feel for you?
 
This is the blueprint for a family. And it’s what I try with all my heart to show to others whenever I can.
 
By the day before my trip, I am in such need of time away from my own existence that the uneasiness of accepting such a huge handout has been replaced with overwhelming gratefulness for such a blessing.
 
Life recently has been relentless. The parenting special needs issues have been like a hail of gunfire. You run one way, you run another, but it matters not. You’re getting hit from every direction. Just survive. Keep moving. I’ll survive if I keep moving. I have no idea which way to go, and I’m going to be hurt no matter what. But if I do nothing, I’m dead. 
 
Other issues unrelated to the special needs have been like salt on the open wounds of my life lately, as well, rendering already-difficult emotional terrain nearly impossible to navigate. You know when your prayers evolve to “Please just make it all stop, Lord,” that you’re close to the edge. I know this because I have skidded beyond that point before – and what lies beyond is a steep, dark, narrow crevice that’s much easier to fall into than to negotiate your way back out of. 

This trip was my family acting as a pile of boulders placed in the path between me and that crevice. But we all know (or we should) that even the most well-thought-out plan is no match for God’s timing and his own idea of how things are going to go down.
 
No match, indeed.
 
It all started with my mom waking me up the evening before I was to fly out – at a little after 6 p.m. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep sitting straight up in my bed while making a packing list, and she’d arrived to begin being “Nana-mom” the next morning to my two younger boys and two dogs (Buddy and Heidi) while I was gone and Daddy was at work all day. I could hear middle dude (12) and youngest dude (7) yelling at one another downstairs and asked what was going on. 

“Apparently Buddy has thrown up somewhere and they’re fighting about cleaning it up. You don’t worry about it. I didn’t come to sit and do nothing!”
 
Oh, the providence of that my mother's words.