See How We've Changed

Since October 19, 2013, the day we brought Tadesse and Biruk home, our lives have changed more than you can possibly know. Yes, I know you are thinking about the big things: family dynamics, grocery bills, stress.

Today's blog is just a series of pictures of the little ways that life has changed, but the little always adds up to big, doesn't it?

After

My Christmas List

'Tis the season for Christmas lists and Christmas shopping. The older I get, though, the less I want, and unfortunately, the things I do want tend to cost more. (Yes, I'm working on that whole need versus want issue.) So this morning I decided to make a list of what I do not want.

1. I do not want fancy food on fancy dishes. At Christmas I don't care what we eat or how we eat it. I care about whom I am eating with.

Beauty through Snowflakes

This morning I had to be in Sioux Falls early. As I listened to Christmas music on the radio while I drove, I moaned out loud when the sky started spitting, and I focused my eyes in the darkness, wondering if I was seeing snow or rain. Soon enough, the splatting on my windshield turned into the tic-tic sound of snow.

I really don't like winter.

Football and Faith

My brother-in-law Jason and I have a good-natured debate going on. He is a die-hard football fan. I am not. On Sunday afternoons he loves watching a good game of professional football; I enjoy watching the backs of my eyelids. He is determined to catch me in a moment of football fandom.

Pushing Buttons

One of the struggles we've had since coming home with Tadesse and Biruk is their endless fascination with buttons. We brought an iPad (which we have been continuously thankful for) that they played with on the plane and in the guest house. Their fascination with all things electronic has made us laugh on a number of occasions, including in the O'Hare airport when Tadesse was trying to manipulate the graphics by touching the screen of a huge TV. It has also panicked us, like when he pushed the fire alarm, which someone had the foresight to cover with a clear plastic lid.

Tender Mercies

As usual, I had to have a rough evening before I could experience the blessing of the next day.

Last night I was tired. Lately I've felt like I could sleep 24 hours straight, yet my body only lets me sleep about seven hours, even when I take something like Advil PM to help me sleep. The result of going to bed early is waking up at 3:30 or 4:00 a.m., still feeling exhausted and emotional.

Lead Me to Your Heart

Today is morning four in Ethiopia, Sunday, and my heart has broken.

The morning after we arrived in Addis Ababa, we drove to the remote village of Wuchale, where our boys were born and where we met them at their orphanage. This trip was long—10 hours by rented blue Toyota van, roads full of hairpin turns, oxen, mules, camels, and laughing children.

More Than Enough

A dear friend of mine and I have been talking much about excess these past months. We discuss Americans' dependence on stuff while people like those in Ethiopia and Haiti seem so happy with so little.

Then I go out and buy a new pair of Asics because my soles are just starting to show wear. Some people we know take us out to eat, and I order an 8 ounce filet mignon, which costs $33, and that's with no side dishes included. My daughter requests $30 for a class car, and I refuse. (Who in their right mind would spend money on a car just to destroy it, anyway?) And then I buy another $20 book to devour in two days. I am ridiculously fickle.

Not So Speedy Delivery

When I was pregnant with Caleb, our firstborn, Jerome and I were overcome with anticipation. We planned together, I planned more, we bought baby clothes (not enough), and we prepared his room. Because we were expecting him in March and I was a college junior, we thought it prudent for me to take a semester off. In doing this, life felt like it came to a standstill as we waited. And waited. Ten days following my due date, this tardy little boy entered the world and turned our life upside down, transforming these young people into parents who didn't have a clue but who were eager to learn.

Moving on Past

Yesterday in my blog I spelled "Esther" as "Ester" and wrote "one one" instead of "on one."

Now, if there's any hang up of mine that you've noticed I have from reading my blogs, you certainly know this: I. Hate. Making. Mistakes. For the fun of it, I went back and checked previous blogs. Six—yes, six—have been labeled with a topic of mistakes or perfectionism. I've listed them below just so you'll believe me. If you read more than one, you'll say to yourself, "Yep, that Tami has an issue!"

Setting Me Right
On Pride
Bucket List Lesson Number One
The Cover-up
Just Fix It
Mistakes

I've  been trying to get over that ism because fear of mistakes and perfectionist tendencies can paralyze a person into inaction. (I speak from experience.)

Perfectionism tells us we'll never be quite good enough. God tells us He loves us where we're at.

Perfectionism tells us to quit trying. God tells us to keep going, and He'll catch us when we stumble.

Perfectionism tells us people are judging us by our faults. God tells us He is the only judge.

Perfectionism tells us that failure is the end. God uses failure to draw us closer.

God can work in us and through us in our imperfect state. He used Moses who killed someone, David who committed adultery and had his lover's husband killed, and He uses people like you and me, too, because while we are screw-ups in so many ways, He is perfect. He covers our weaknesses and magnifies our strengths in order to bring glory and honor to His name.

So what do we do? Sit back and relax, realizing that we'll never be perfect, so why improve? No, we just have to point ourselves in the right direction. We allow God to work through us and on our behalf, but never losing sight of who it is we are trying to please.

That little voice inside you that tells you that you're behind or not good enough, the one that has you trying to please the people who aren't even nice? Start talking back. It's time for it to move out and for God to move in.

The Way It Should Be

When I was a kid, one of the things my parents insisted on was being responsible. Mom left us a list of chores to complete every day in the summertime while she was at work, and oh, we knew better than to have some of that list uncompleted by the time she got home! Mom and Dad insisted on being on time as well (or better yet, ten minutes early) because being late was a sign of disrespect toward the others who were left waiting. We were not reminded of homework or observed while we completed it. We were expected to get it done promptly and to do our best, so we usually did. Pleasing Mom and Dad was important because they were also the first people to celebrate our successes.

Mom and Dad were right. Responsibility practically guaranteed success. Today, though, my system-hungry and responsibility-conscious self struggles with those areas where responsibility + hard work ≠ success. (Did you see that, kids? Mom just did math!)

We were told on our first adoption trip that the system in Ethiopia is broken. That's why we needed to stand in line two hours at the ticket counter in the Addis airport. It's why there are beggars on the street who would love nothing more than to have a real job. It's why electrical lines run through mountain passes while two-thirds of rural families have no electricity and even more than that carry their own water. It's why there's exceptional cell phone coverage while a number of people with leprosy are ostracized and live at the dump. It's why people like you and me are needed to adopt kids.

In my organized, logical, and very idealistic heart, I want go cry out that moms and dads should be able to raise their kids. Kids should be able to play and go to school, not work the fields and tend to the animals all day. If a person works hard, she should be able to eat, wear clothes, maintain a home, and feel safe. If responsible choices are made, success should not only be possible, but likely!

But it's even bigger than responsibility; it's idea that everyone deserves justice, a certain fairness in life that means that every person—every person—is valued. And I don't think it comes from some government program or health care or welfare or food bank. Those things are just tools that sometimes work and sometimes don't. Instead,  I think it comes from where our hearts are—deep down in our subconsciousness—on that ladder of where we place ourselves and where we place others.

Perhaps this disparity in justice is part of what the Bible means when it mentions original sin and the very earth's groaning for things to be set right again. It's pretty easy to feel hopeless about it all, to shrug our shoulders and continue on, oblivious to the plight of others. But let's not do that.

Today I challenge you. Take a look outside your neat little life and let it get a little messy, disorganized, and chaotic. Reach out to someone—anyone—whose life lacks the justice he deserves. Your acknowledgement may come in a kind word of encouragement or a grocery gift card, but it could also mean taking an Esther-like stand for those whose story is not being heard. Let's just agree on one thing: we refuse to sit on our hands any longer.

...And Now, for the Rest of the Story...

In my last blog, I explained my awakening in recognizing that both my husband and my God have my back, so today I'm going to explain how letting some of that baggage go has lightened my load. So as Paul Harvey used to say, "And now, for the rest of the story!"

Here's what's happened since:

1. I quit my job in teaching and reviewed my calling. First, I was a marketing editor for a few years (a job I loved, by the way), and then I decided to stay home. When people ask me to introduce myself, I no longer say, "I'm Tami and a teacher" or "I'm Tami and an editor." Most the time, it's just "I'm Tami," and people think I have this deeply mysterious quality about me. (Okay, that's not true, but it sounds intriguing, doesn't it?) In identifying myself as my career, I took the me out of it, and you know what? I missed the me.

2. My family thinks I'm a new and improved person. I still hate to cook. I wouldn't know what to do if you put me in front of a sewing machine. My garden is still a couple of wilting flowers in an expanse of weedy mulch. (I didn't say I turned into Martha Stewart. Give me a break here.) I do, however, have more patience, more time, and more creativity. I pay attention to the casual conversations instead of trying to multi-task all the time.

 3. I am gaining some guts. Since I have time, last year I took up piano lessons again and this year I started taekwondo. I used to constantly fear looking foolish, and I guess that was pride. Now I'm starting to see that a person may look foolish for a while, but he isn't as foolish as someone who is too scared to try. And did I mention we're adopting??!!

 4. This blog has become more than a casual friend. Sometimes I feel absolutely driven to write, like I'm going throw up words if I don't quickly get them out. (I bet that conjured up some great images.) While we're on the subject of my blog, I apologize if I over share. Someone who loves me once cautioned me to protect myself a little more because people may judge me by the feelings I confess. Here's what I believe: I can't afford not to be vulnerable. First, if you like me, I want you to like me for who I truly am. Second, if my life circumstances or thoughts help you overcome something, then that gives me—and my middle-of-the-night thoughts—purpose. Your encouragement over the past few years has really helped me to continue with this writing. Thanks. Also thanks to my husband who, when I ask if he cares if I share one of our personal conversations, swallows and says "Go ahead" because he, too, hopes it will help someone.

 5. It has helped me step out in faith. My earnings from work were our consistent income, and Jerome's income was of the sometimes-here, sometimes-not variety. It was scary to give that up and quite difficult for me (still) to think of the farming income and lifestyle as ours instead of my husband's, which brings me to number six.

 6. My marriage has improved because we are more of a team. I hit the jackpot when I married this man; I really did. This man has patience with my weaknesses and shouts my strengths louder than anyone I know. He is compassionate and sensitive and strong all at the same time, and he sometimes knows what I'm going to feel even before I feel it. I used to think of his job as "the other woman" and was completely jealous of the time "she" kept him away from me. Now I realize that she is merely a tractor, a field of corn, or an engine with an issue, and I am able hang out with Jerome whenever I want (and he kinda likes it when I do).

7. Finally, I realized that I determine my level of joy. I can be a pessimist or an optimist. I can be a complainer or an uplifter. I can have the can-do attitude or the poor-me attitude. I can choose to love people and life or just see each day as an obstacle to get over. I have to think about this when my attitude heads south or my heart is heavy with painful thoughts. I am choosing contentment.  I am happy to be here. Right here. Right now. And I'm happy you're on the journey with me.

Protect Me

Following a difficult year of my life when I lost both my dad and my brother, I had an awakening of sorts. On one particular evening, grief was pressing in on me from all sides, and something I didn't even know I was feeling came rolling out of my mouth in a conversation with Jerome.

"Jerome, all my life—since I was a little girl—I knew I had two people to protect me. My dad and brother. And now I don't."

There was a moment of silence before Jerome quietly said, "But Tami, don't you realize that's my job now? I am here."

Jerome and I had been married almost 20 years, yet I had continued placing that responsibility on my dad and brother instead of on my husband.

Now, I've always considered myself an independent person. I became a teacher not only because I felt called to it but because I wanted to be able to stand on my own two feet and to have the ability to be the main breadwinner of the family should something happen to my husband. One of my biggest goals was not to be wealthy but to make enough money that we could survive, and I said to Jerome on a couple different occasions, "I really don't want to be some high-maintenance wife." I wanted to contribute in my own way.

Yet here I was seeking security and protection from all the unknowns: physical protection from creeps, yes, but even more importantly, emotional protection from people who just aren't very nice.

Perhaps I wasn't (and am not) as independent as I thought I was.

This month I'm completing the Old Testament for the first time. I've read bits and pieces in church and in study over the years, but this is the first time that I've committed to reading my Bible cover to cover.

I used to think of the Old Testament as dull lists of lineage and archaic laws. I didn't really think it mattered so much because I am a New Testament Christian who believes that Jesus came and that His grace and love replaces so much from the Old Testament. I'm learning, though, how rich and powerful and necessary that Old Testament is to our understanding of that grace.

You see, I don't think it's just women who want and need to be protected. God reminds all of us throughout the Old Testament that it is His job and desire to protect us:

"The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing." - Zephaniah 3: 17

"'Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,' says The Lord, who has compassion on you." - Isaiah 54: 10

"When I said, 'My foot is slipping,' your love, O Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul." - Psalm 94: 18-19

And those not-so-nice people who sometimes cross our paths? God isn't too happy with them, but His judgement comes later. While there is nothing wrong with protecting ourselves, we are to be forgiving and gracious, praying that they come to know Jesus Christ the way we do, as our redeemer, the greatest protector of all.


By the way, no husbands were hurt in the writing of this blog.

Homecoming Matters

This is homecoming week in my hometown, and while I attended the coronation ceremony last night and enjoyed watching some great kids get recognition, I want to speak to the teenagers for a moment.

While those selected should feel honored by their classmates, in the long run this kind of thing just doesn't matter. I graduated almost 25 years ago. Yes, next year I'll be one of those old people riding by on a

homecoming float and throwing candy to the kids. But you know what? At coronation last night I had to look at the program's list of previous masters of ceremonies and homecoming queens because I couldn't remember who was on royalty when I was a senior.

You know those 13 years you've spent with each other? As sad as this is, once you graduate you will never see some of your classmates again, and some of them will remain your lifelong friends, as familiar to you at the age of 42 as they were at 17.

Young friends, these are my former classmates whom I'm impressed with today:

1. Those who have gone on and made a difference. Some have become well educated and are doctors, teachers, pastors, and scientists. Some have become parents and are wholly committed to raising kids  who demonstrate leadership and character. Some have opened local businesses and are generous to our community with their time and resources. Some have gone on a worldwide pursuit of service in the military and as missionaries. All of the people I've mentioned have put the focus on the needs of others and are committed to whatever they feel called to do.

The number two? There isn't one. Because being the whole person you were created to be—one who makes a positive difference in the lives of others—is really the only thing that matters. We're counting on you, young people, to focus on running the race before you with that clear goal in mind.

And please don't forget: we love all of you.

Bucket List Lesson Number Two

Last night I took the plunge and started taekwondo class, which is number five on my bucket list. Along with my friend and fellow taekwondo mom, we stretched and kicked and punched (and moaned and giggled), but as promised by the instructor, we managed to get through the class and even enjoyed ourselves.

Because I am horribly uncoordinated, I decided I'd better practice what I remembered of the moves this afternoon. When Elijah came home from school, I said, "Hey, does this right knife hand strike look okay?"

His response was honest: "Yeah, it looks good, but you need to work on not letting your muscles wobble so much."

After a little laughter and a few more strikes, I let that sink in a little. And it stung.

I have been lifting weights most of the summer, and I can verify that I'm a lot stronger than I was in the spring. I'll even show you my biceps if you ask, but my daughter will roll her eyes in embarrassment. The problem? That nasty stuff that lingers. (Men readers, please don't tune out now. I do have a point.)

My first response was laughter, yet that self-doubt that plagues me (and you too, I bet) whispered that I'm no better. I'm wasting my time. This is all just a joke.

Yet I know this is not the truth. I know I'm worth more than my level of physical fitness or how smart I am or how much money is currently in my checking account.

A poem that I had hanging on my desk in my college dorm room came floating back into my consciousness, and that good old Trumbull (and Van De Stroet) stubbornness sunk in once again.

I am not a quitter. I am a victor. I am not a victim. I am an overcomer.

We are constantly barraged with the lies we choose to tell ourselves about our self worth, but you and I? We're priceless. We've been paid for, lifted up, and redeemed by grace.

And that means that a mistake that you've made at work, a poor decision you've made in a relationship, or something as silly as a little old wobble under my (nicely developing) biceps should never stall us. Together, let's agree to just keep pressing on.

Setting Me Right

Sometimes when I can't sleep in the middle of the night, I play Solitaire on my iPad, and this morning  I discovered this setting:

What? After all the losing games I've had over the past years, I could have simply slid this lever over and assigned myself all winning games? On one hand, that would have relieved a lot of frustration for me. Instead of getting to that place where it seems I have nothing left to try, I could hit Undo or Start this game over and be guaranteed a win.

While we're at it, I'd really just like to have one of these handy little levers for my life. This is where my all winning situations lever would be rather handy:


1. Arguments with my husband. I promise we don't argue that much, but when we do, I'm a little put off by those moments when this thought crosses my mind: maybe I'm a little crabby. Even worse is when he says something that is logical to my emotional or when he doesn't argue back and I'm itching for a challenge. My all winning situations lever would help him to argue enough but not well. I would always be right.

2. When someone needs my help but I don't want to. My lever will let me have a busy calendar or an apt excuse on the tip of my tongue. Handy.

3. Self-control. I will no longer struggle with overeating or lack of motivation for exercise.

4. Those tough times when it's my job to correct someone and he really doesn't want to hear it. Whether in my role as a teacher, parent, or editor, I've always (okay—usually) tried to be tactful and kind, but with this lever, I can be blunt and pointed (funny how those words mean the same thing, right?) without worrying about feelings. That would save so much time and effort.

Really, though, sometimes I do long for a life like this, for every situation to be winnable, to have the skill, finesse, and persistence to pull off every challenge. Still, it seems there's something rather prideful in my quest to be right, to win every. single. time.

I have a God who knows what I need and when I need it, and it isn't always through winning. In fact, my sometimes losing personal setting means that I must admit I'm irritable and impatient and imperfect. It exposes my selfish motivations.

God really isn't up in heaven looking down on me and flipping a win/lose switch. He isn't saying, "She's lost three times in a row. Think I'll give her a win before she quits."

Through the Holy Spirit, God is here with me—and you if you've invited Him in. Instead of giving us situations we can always win, he has us set on Always Improvable. He sees us as we can be, not as our current selves, and that should give us a measure of His peace. It's our role, then, to accept correction and redirection and understand that if God is doing the remodeling of our hearts, then we will all win...through grace alone.

A Sponsorship Story

When we were in Ethiopia, we elected to stay at the Morning Coffee Guest House for a couple of reasons. First, there we would get more insight into Ethiopian culture, and second, because we read that the owners give away 30% of their guest house income.

The main reason we'll be staying there on our next trip isn't because of the great hospitality of the owners, the satisfying meals, or even the wonderful guests we met on our first trip (and hope to see on our second). The biggest reason we'll be staying there the second time is all about life story and missional focus.

Why I Won't Promote Adoption

Here we are, only a few weeks from picking up our two beautiful children Tadesse and Biruk from their orphanage in Addis Ababa. Some friends are excited to ask me all sorts of questions, but some hang back, likely afraid that I'll corner them into adopting for themselves.

But I won't. Because I'm not like that. Instead, I'm going to tell you why you shouldn't.

Living ...with Style

I have an odd—maybe vain—habit. When I've practiced a piano number to almost error free (See my previous post about that), I record myself to listen for inappropriate pauses, tempo changes, and my muttered frustration at mistakes. Then I work to fix those areas.

Today when listening to Lorie Line, who wrote most of the music I'm attempting to play, I didn't hear her correct notes. I heard her style. Her playing didn't resemble piano key-plunking as mine often does. Her rhythm didn't seem tiresome and rigid. It flowed. And her dynamics? Well, let's just say that I pretend mine are always mezzo forte, and something is lost in my interpretation.

What To Say (and What Not) To Your Friends Who Are Adopting

Note: This post is a work in progress. I'm posting it now because I want input from other adoptive parents and because I know it will never be complete.

Since I've begun this adoption process, I've learned a lot about people's misconceptions. At first when reading the blogs of adoptive parents, I thought they were overly sensitive. Now I'm just beginning to understand. I just keep trying to remind myself that people are not trying to be offensive, that they just are a little naive about the process.

So voila—this post describing the right and not-so-right things to say to adoptive parents. This post is for those of you who may find the subject of adoption awkward.

Here and There

My week in Ethiopia has given me much to be thankful about, namely

1. Tap water with pressure. Every day in America—and sometimes twice a day—I am relieved to step in to a steaming shower with water so pressurized that it feels like a massage. We don't recognize that many of the world's people lack clean drinking water, and I saw countless people hauling water who didn't have running water in the house. That's a daily chore in the rural areas of Ethiopia.

2. Toilet paper and sewer systems. Enough said.

Sleepwalking

This is what I woke up to this morning. A Mario Kart top bed sheet, crumpled and thrown down the stairs. I stared at it a moment, thinking, What in the world? before laughing at the thought of Elijah in his late-night sleepwalking, feeling the urge to hurl this unruly, untucked bed sheet downward into our living room.

We had awakened to light rap, rap, rapping (Sorry--English teacher inside joke) on our chamber/bedroom door to find Elijah sitting outside, mumbling gibberish. This has become a frequent spectacle at our home. (Kaylee has caught him on video, but I'm not quite mean enough to post that on my blog.)

His sleepwalking fog reminds me of what I consider one of the most confusing passages of the New Testament, Romans 7: 14-20:

Meet My New Friends

I have always had a label for people who habitually do tasks the same way or at the same time every day or every week. I would call them rigid. Controlling. Boring. Now because of my very judgmental assessment of these people, you could call me spontaneous, stubborn, and unstructured. You could say that I'm a person of poor habits. All of those would be correct.

I've been trying to become a little less so.

Readers, meet my new friends Coffee and Weights. New friends, meet my readers.

Some of you may have seen me lamenting on social media about my new friends. They are tiresome and bitter, but I still long to be close to them.

Waking Up

Last night the last thing I said to my husband was, "I'm really tired, so don't wake me up in the morning. I'm going to sleep in." Translation: "I want to think I'm going to sleep in. I'll probably be up at 6:00."

Sure enough, at 4:30 a.m. this morning, my eyes popped awake. (When I wake up, I wake up. No groggy stuff. Groggy hits at 3:00 p.m.) After a few moments of stumbling around in the darkness to get dressed, I slid open our squeaky deck screen to step outside and enjoy the sunrise (yes, I had to wait a bit).

On Forgiveness

I've been writing a lot about choices lately, choices to be thankful, choices to look at the truth instead of what we really want to hear. Today, though, I want to discuss one more, and that is the choice of forgiveness.

I know every one of my readers struggles with forgiveness, whether it's forgiving someone who has hurt you, someone who won't forgive you for a mistake, or perhaps even forgiving yourself. 

And so I want to tell you my story. It's not a story that defines me because I've found that we create our own definitions of self, that choices made by others cannot define us unless we go through life seeing ourselves as victims. This is not a story that I'm willing to give any more power over my life. 

Adoption Update - June 10

For the past couple of weeks, the Van De Stroet home has been a flurry of activity. We received a referral to adopt Tadesse and Biruk a couple of weeks ago, and if that wasn't enough, we found out that we would likely be making our first trip to Ethiopia this summer before the adoption court is scheduled to close (generally August-September). So we painted the bedroom. We talked to our travel agent. We went senior picture clothes shopping and scheduled senior pictures for Kaylee. We made lists upon lists. We underlined and starred items in our travel documents and ordered a map of Ethiopia and Amharic-English dictionaries. We bought travel supplies and Ethiopia-appropriate clothes.

My Marriage Expiration

Last month following my post about my wedding anniversary, I had a dream. In the dream, Jerome and I had
been married 25 years, and according to the law, our marriage had reached its expiration date. Yes, at 25 years of marriage, the contract was immediately dissolved, and it was up to the us to get married again or to part ways. I asked Jerome, "When are we going to get married?" and he said, "I was thinking in the fall." It was spring when our marriage vows dissolved, yet Jerome wanted to wait for fall to get married again! I was crushed and told him that I certainly wasn't going to live with him anymore if he wasn't married to me. Then I woke up and of course gave Jerome an earful. (Don't worry about Jerome. He just laughed.)

There is something beautiful about being chosen: chosen to be someone's wife, chosen for a job, chosen for an award. It speaks of our value to someone else, and it is a hallmark of being loved.

Home

I have so many wonderful memories from childhood. Most of them are tied somehow to this place, the only house I remember living in until the day I was married. My room was on the second level on the front side of the house and was a bright yellow, and one wall had wallpaper with yellow flowers and a white lace bedspread. Now, I've never been a yellow-room kind of person, but this was the design of the previous occupant, my oldest sibling June. (Thanks, June. No sarcasm. Really. Okay, maybe a little bit.)

Lessons Learned at 42

"Not to be offensive or anything, Mom, but how does it feel to get older? I mean, can you really tell?"

This is how the conversation with my 21-year-old son Caleb started, and it ended with my rather simple answer: "Besides my back getting a little sore sometimes, Caleb, I feel better than I have in years." 

In 1999 Robert Fulghum published the book All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. The book was a best seller, and I loved it. There are a lot of things, though, that I didn't learn in kindergarten, that took me 42 years to understand, and still many more that I'm trying to figure out. Please blog with me by sharing in the comments section the lessons you've learned.

Some Thoughts on Marriage

Today is my 23rd anniversary. Twenty-three years ago my 19-year-old self and my 22-year-old boyfriend walked down the aisle and made a very grown-up commitment in a world that seemed pretty uncommitted.

We've learned some things along the way. When I first thought about writing them down, I wondered who would possibly want to read them; after all, 23 years is not that long...and yet it is. So at the risk of sounding like we have it all together (we don't), I thought I'd enroll Jerome's help and give you seven things we've each learned about marriage. If you've been married awhile, you don't need this list, but if you're just starting out, maybe you can learn from our mistakes.

My One Thousand Gifts

Inspired by Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts, I've decided to write a detailed list of those everyday things and people for which I give God thanks. This is definitely a list in progress.

1. The way ducks drag their feet through the water right before they land
2. The penetrating heat of the sun's rays on a spring day
3. The sound of nine-year-old feet scampering across my wooden floor
4. Floppy puppy ears

On Pride

I have a problem with pride. I care too much about how I appear to others, and nothing is ever quite good enough for me.

As I've blogged about many times before, perfectionism is something I struggle against often. From my career path as an English teacher and editor to my calling to be a mom, I have focused on the ideal. I strive to be organized, to have a neat house, to volunteer, and to develop and maintain good habits.

While I don't really consider myself a competitive person with others, I am always, always in competition with myself. Am I better than I was yesterday? Am I stronger, bolder, smarter, more compassionate? And while the appearance of this inner competition makes me appear motivated, the truth is that I sometimes struggle to accept myself the way I am today and love myself the way Jesus loves me.

Memory of a Neighbor

Once in a while a memory will come back to me in odd bits, one leading to the next, until a big picture emerges that I hadn't contemplated much before. That happened to me this morning as I was practicing piano.

As I was going over "Threads of Love," I was suddenly brought back to another piano, one that I used to play at my neighbor Phyllis' house. I hadn't taken any piano lessons at that point, but Phyllis would encourage me to play by ear. That's what she was: an encourager.

Bucket List Lesson Number One

I've shared my bucket list with you, and you know I'm taking piano lessons. As goofy as it seems for a 40-something woman to be taking piano lessons, let me tell you that I really enjoy it—so much so that I almost called my piano teacher yesterday and asked her for an extra one because I've practiced so much this week. Yes, goofy. I warned you.

A Hope and a Future

Call it a mid-life crisis. Call it anything you want to.

The last couple of months, something has affected me. Is it my new almost-daily commitment to reading my Bible? Is it my recent weight loss? Is it my excitement for the future: first, a cruise with my sweetheart, and next, some trips to Ethiopia to adopt one or more children?