A Cup of Humility

We understood when we committed to adopting a child that it meant we were going to have to raise funds to make it possible.   Honestly?  It's the one piece of this entire process that has given me the heebie jeebies because it partly feels wrong.  The more we've talked about adoption with others, the more we've come to learn just how many people really like the idea of adopting, buuuut it costs way too much so they'd never move forward with it.   We have been blown away by the support already received thus far.  We cannot express our thanks far & wide enough to those who have shown up for us in huge ways.  You are forever written in our future child's beginning.   Why, oh, why does adoption come with such a hefty price tag when there are so many children needing homes?   For a several reasons, including: legal & agency fees, and (sometimes) supporting the expectant mother for her needs.   No, she is not "paid" to make an adoption plan,

I woke up at 12:02 am to the sound of our girl needing some sustenance and mama. “We’re getting this party started early,” I thought, as I scooped her out of her crib & nestled her little body against mine, realizing how ferociously the rain was pouring down outside.  To the sound of the water plummeting, my tears began to flow. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Family gatherings. They’re all viewed through a different lens now; one of memories and longing, one of retracing the playing out of how his once-strong body diminished before my tired eyes.  Life is two stages: one before and one after the loss of my dad.  I’m taken back to only months ago while sitting by his bedside - in the very spot he took his final breath - studying the intricacies of his elbows, and wondering to myself how many times those elbows must have extended and bent in his lifetime. Fixing cars, sitting behind a steering wheel, wiping up after children, rubbing backs, cheering on sporting events.  The

God doesn’t call you to help all 153,000,000 orphans worldwide, but you can help one, and for that one child, you can change the world. (Lifesong for Orphans) It’s been a couple weeks since the big Luau Adoption Fundraiser extravaganza.   We are still organizing the aftermath in our household with grass skirts strewn about and a heap of ‘thank you’ notes to write, all while marveling at the tremendous way this event played out. Now that it’s all wrapped up, we want to tell you that your awesome donations totaled just over $8,000, which is nearly half the guesstimated adoption cost!   (We don’t know the exact cost as it depends on how various legal &/or birth mother expenses tally up).   This adoption – the persual of our third child – is so much bigger than us.   While we have logically understood this concept from the beginning, the support and contributions received to date have solidified just how much truth that statement holds.   It is with heartfelt

(Photos by  Alacia Adrienne Photography ) Have you ever been called to do something?   Something a little scary & uncomfortable, yet simultaneously something you could not shake unless you answered?   Something that seemed completely out of your capacity, but it kept nudging you? Adoption called us.   Adoption and foster care have been woven into the thread of our relationship since the beginning.   Looking back, I am in awe at the selfless (& insane) decision my parents made to open their home to foster children after already having six biological kids of their own.   My dad had a great response to anyone who raised an eyebrow in question of our family dynamic.   “Yes, they’re all ours & with my ‘first’ wife.”      It was near my 6 th birthday that we took in my first two foster sisters, who had just turned 5 and 7 years old.   That year-long placement turned into a 10-year adventure of housing almost 60 children, two of which became my youngest sibl

I’ve spent a lot of time in the recent months reflecting on my dad’s life and the impact he had on me as his daughter; the good, the bad, the things I wish I would have done differently, and the things I will never have the chance to do with him again.   Even in his final days as his body dwindled & suffered greatly, his mind remained sharp and his gift of conversation was very present until that, too, was finally taken away.   In this season of remembrance, I recently recalled one of the most hilarious memories I have from my childhood.   It took place one scorching summer afternoon in 1991 when we attended a luau in our little town.   This event was a fundraiser for our local hockey association, so in all things hockey-related, my parents loaded up all of their tots – foster kids included - to partake in the festivities.   Hockey association supporters near and far showed up in Hawaiian shirts, grass skirts, and leis for an afternoon of tropical celebration; a very diff

(2015) We talk about wanting more time as one of our “whys” at Eupraxia .  After Brady & I opened the West Salem location in 2015, my dad jumped into the program because he wanted to check what we did and support us!  Despite having a titanium femur due to a prior car accident AND already being in the thick of treating stage 4 prostate cancer, which had metastasized to his bones, he became a regular attendee and quickly known as the “Barefoot Ninja”.  This man in his mid-60s listened intently to the nutrition advice we gave, and overhauled his diet as a result.  He started supplementing with our Fish oil, vitamin D3, & probiotics.  He loved our workouts and the community.  He had great days and tough days, which primarily followed his chemo treatments or tests.  He was a little embarrassing sometimes because he would show up in his neon shirts, long underwear, and bare feet.  He acted like kickboxing was a legitimate boxing match & never wore gloves.  He’

(google image) It’s probably not the norm to pack up and head to Las Vegas the day after ones father’s funeral.   But we did.   The trip had been planned as Brady was scheduled to attend the NAB Conference, and it presented as a great opportunity for us to flee town for a few days – just the four of us.   I hardly remember throwing our belongings into suitcases last Sunday in the aftermath of sadness that filled my soul.   After some thought, w e decided to follow through with the chance to have a “vacation” after not having been away since our last trip to Colorado in mid-2013 when I was battling horrible morning sickness while pregnant with Liam.     (WHO NAMED IT MORNING SICKNESS?) A few days away from our business, a few days away from homestudy paperwork, a few days away from responsibilities & obligations.   We had zero plans other than a scheduled flight there and a scheduled flight back.   It sounded wonderful.   The trip was filled with a lot of laughs, a

My dad died three days ago. Today, we have a three-month old. And three years ago to the date we were preparing for my father-in-law’s funeral.   I can’t say it ‘feels like yesterday’ that our sweet girl arrived because it doesn’t.   It feels like ages ago that we marveled over our tiny brand new baby; blissful and completely unaware of what life was going to look like in the weeks to follow.   Goodness, Skyla's birthday was beautiful and perfect.   Anger overcame me yesterday at the realization that my daughter’s first pretty dress is going to be worn at her Poppy’s funeral, while simultaneously remembering that Liam’s first size 18mo suit and tie were worn to his Papa G.’s funeral.   Some choice words accompanied the question of, “Why don’t baby books have a special ‘First Funeral’ section?   This is horseshit.”   The anger passed and sadness filled its place.   The tears flowed, and then the empty numbness. While my dad laid on his deathbed I told him that w