All in the Numbers

I have an aversion to numbers, a problem I discovered when in my high school algebra class. Even though I understood geometry quite a bit better, high school was the end of my positive relationship with math. Since then, I have enjoyed posting a number of memes on my social media pages:

The irritation I felt toward numbers didn't end in high school. By the time I reached graduate school, I had to study just enough statistics in order to better understand educational measurement, margins of error, and standard deviations. From there I had to decide whether my master's thesis research would be quantitative or qualitative. Quantitative would have involved collecting data by measurement and then analyzing that data. Qualitative meant exploring human behavior through interviews and observation. I chose quantitative. Just joking.

Numbers followed me to work as well. As I taught high school English for a number of years, I noticed that a gradual shift was happening away from the beauty of literature and creative writing to progress measured by the means of standardized testing. Later, in my marketing work, I learned about ROI, PPC, CPC, all terms related to the number of dollars a business earns or spends. With our farming business, our banker would come out once a year to tally our long, middle, and short-term assets and compare them to our long, middle, and short-term liabilities in an effort to calculate our net worth.

Numbers had become not only a part of my life, but a focus. I had bought into the philosophy that numbers defined me, and unfortunately, through the years I have somehow subscribed to the saying that "If it can't be measured, it doesn't exist." Worth had to be measured.

You see, I weigh myself almost daily, thinking that the number on the scale is an accurate representation of whether I am attractive. On my bad days as a stay at home mom, I sometimes look at my lack of personal income as a failure to contribute to our family's needs. Just as foolishly, I notice way too often how many likes my Facebook status just received. The effect? Many times I have become disgusted with myself because my numbers in various areas of my life don't always add up to what I want them to.

So this morning I did what every Christian should do when faced with a personal dilemma. I looked to my Bible. Surely numbers can't be as important there.

This was the first thing I found:

There you go. A whole book written about numbers. And I thought, you have to be kidding me.

Still, though I am no Bible scholar, I know it well enough to know that the census of the Old Testament and the measurements of the temple and Noah's ark are really not the crux of the Bible message. Nope, the Bible message can more accurately be explained by 5 + 2 ≠ 5,000 but 5 + 2 + J = 5,000. A number of times in the Gospels (Matthew 14, Luke 9, Mark 6, John 6),  we are told the story of the five loaves and two fish and the feeding of the 5,000 people who had been listening to Jesus but were hungry. The disciples asked Jesus how they were supposed to feed the followers, and Jesus took the meager offering of five loaves and two fish, and He made it enough—not just enough, but with some to spare. Now, we can view this as a ridiculous amount of redundancy in the Bible; after all, the story is repeated four times. Better yet, we can see it as something so important that it is repeated four times just to make sure it sticks. What we come with is not enough, but what what we come with plus what Jesus provides is more than enough.

You see, we can keep measuring ourselves with our imaginary yardsticks. We can keep counting. We can keep setting that standard of success just a little bit higher, knowing that the carrot will keep us moving forward. Or we can understand that when we bring what we have, what we have been blessed with, to the table as an offering to our God, He will make up the difference.

That's a whole lot more encouraging than algebra, isn't it?

Response Requested

Yesterday I wrote about how I made the mistake of using a disciplinary system that was inappropriate for my kids and how learning to love my kids first, before expecting any kind of good behavior, really made a positive difference in our family life. Then I explained how God also loves us no matter what.

There's always more to a story than first meets the eye, isn't there? Every fight takes two. Every relationship takes commitment from both partners. Yesterday I wrote my blog on my phone while waiting for one of my sons at an appointment. As I drove home, I decided that I needed to write a part two, the rest of the story.

Atta Boy!

Yesterday afternoon my son Caleb graduated with a bachelor's degree from Iowa State University. Besides the fact that he looked dapper in his cap and gown, I was proud of him for other reasons. His program of study was difficult, and he persevered. He made a series of good choices and now will have a career that is just right for his gifts. Not least, he is a terrific role model for his younger siblings.

During the ceremony, we waited for probably a thousand graduates to walk across the stage before it was Caleb's turn, and in those few seconds, we whooped. We hollered. We whistled. Yes, we lost all sense of decorum because we were so proud. We couldn't contain it, so it just spilled out.

I've been to a handful of college graduations and a plethora of high school graduations before, so this was really nothing new. Let me tell you, though, that it took all the self-control I could muster to not stand up and yell, "That's my boy!" because yes, this was different. This one was my child.

If you know me well, you know that I wake up a lot in the night and think. Something about the quiet evidently spurs my brain to decide now! and my thoughts tend to tumble out through my pen or my keyboard.

In the early hours of this morning, I can't help thinking about what it is like in heaven when any one of us makes our Father proud. Now, we know from Psalms that we have angels sent to minister to us: "For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone" (Psalms 91:11).

I like to imagine those angels walking around with cameras to record every moment of goodness: those times when we've encouraged a child, the times we were busy but stopped to help a stranger anyway, the times we've volunteered at a homeless shelter. It makes me wonder: how many times have we made Jesus jump up from his place at the right hand of God, pump His fist, and shout, "Yes! Did you see that?"  Do you suppose there are instant replays in heaven? Does our all-knowing and all-seeing Father gather everyone around to celebrate those victories?

The fact that our Father knows should influence us to act in ways that are pleasing to Him, and I love contemplating how He sees each of us as special and gifted. I don't know about you, but that gives me incredible hope as well as a determination to do my best.

Thank You, Jesus, for my son Caleb. Thank You that just as I am proud of him, You are proud of all of Your children when we do something pleasing to You. Please be with us and guide us, that we will act in ways that are holy and upright and loving. Amen.

Something More

Today I am going to share something with you that I said I wouldn't. We had planned to keep Tadesse and Biruk's past mostly a private family thing for their protection. However, they have been very forthcoming about those details to many people. This is a good thing since it helps us all to deal with what they have been through.

Tadesse and Biruk were orphans not because their parents died but because they were given up by their mom Alem. She did the most loving thing she could do by getting them into a safe place with food and where they would have opportunity. Alem and Tadesse and Biruk's sister Yeshiwork are alive and living in the small town of Wuchale, in northern Ethiopia. (Yeshiwork was not given up for adoption.)

Jerome and I have told Tadesse and Biruk that we will go back to Wuchale sometime, that we will try to find their mom* and sister so they can have a reunion. At first, this seemed to scare Tadesse. Now that he understands that he is an American and would only be visiting, he can hardly wait to go. First, though, we need to wait for them to be thoroughly attached to our family in America. (If you want to go with us, start saving your money. I can't imagine how wonderful it would be to take 20 Americans to a place that needs so much help.)

Tadesse's mom is never far from his thoughts. Over the past few weeks, he had a few dreams that are so telling of where his heart is. One was that he was Superman and saved Alem from being stabbed by bad guys. Another was that he rode into Wuchale on a horse, and he handed out $50,000 to people who needed money for food. Then Sunday he showed Jerome and me this picture that he drew of a robot:

Jerome said, "Tadesse, what can your robot do?"

Without hesitation, Tadesse replied, "This robot can save my mom."

Remember the blog I wrote while in Ethiopia about the thought that we needed to do something more, that we needed to think about all the people left behind? We feel more than ever that we can't pull our two sweet boys out from that beautiful mountainside village and forget about the people still there.

We cannot send Alem money, though that seems like a logical thing to do. It's ethically questionable (and raises red flags for international adoption) because it would look like we paid her for these two precious boys. But we can do something more. We can somehow help that community.

Enter the chicken coop.

Biruk asked for eight chickens. Don't ask me why he wants chickens! He's eight. Little boys like livestock, I guess. So Jerome ordered 70 chickens. With the gift of an old shed on skids from Jerome's mom and dad, this chicken coop is going to be pulled around our farm, and Biruk is (supposedly) going to do all the chores. I think I am the crazy nut getting stuck with washing the eggs. While most American boys would be seeing dollar signs, Biruk just wants to contribute to the farm.

As Jerome and I thought about it, we decided that this may be a way for the boys to help their old hometown. When I brought up the idea of getting donations for Wuchale, Biruk's eyes lit right up, and he said, "For the old people?" Of course, I asked about the old people, and Biruk said both old people and babies die in Wuchale due to hunger.

My boys have seen way too much.

I can't help but hope that my boys will sometime have a Joseph-like experience, where they can see their loved ones, old friends, and even old bullies again and provide them with basic needs so they will not go hungry. I hope by then they can articulate that it is not because they are wealthy Americans. I hope that they can deliver the message of the Gospel to those who haven't heard it, and tell them that they have returned because of their faith and God's calling on their lives.

For now, we are trying to figure out what the community's specific needs are so we can ascertain what would provide the most practical assistance. Perhaps it is a well or clean water, or maybe it's food that we can get directed there. Friends, here's how you can help: besides buying a dozen eggs from Biruk occasionally, you can pray for us until that something more becomes clear. We know God always has a plan. We just want to find our place in it.


*We don't bother calling Alem the "birth mom." We just tell Tadesse and Biruk that they have two moms—one in America and one in Ethiopia.

The Difference

Before adopting Tadesse and Biruk, I felt rather confident in my parenting skills. I am far from the perfect parent. Jerome and I have just taken each day and made the best of it, often making mistakes, apologizing, and starting over. We grew into the parenting thing slowly, coming home a little nervously with each tiny baby, carefully bundling each in the winter, outfitting our house in those ridiculous outlet plugs, and blocking the stairways with baby gates.

As Caleb, Kaylee, and Elijah got older, we gradually took away the safety gear. We taught them how to crawl down the stairs backwards. We even let them get bruises and scrapes along the way, considering it all a part of the learning process. We've been heard to say, "That's the last time he'll make that mistake!"

And now we have Tadesse and Biruk. Now I find myself reading book after book about parenting. I evaluate and reevaluate every decision. I feel myself go into crisis mode for every tantrum, wondering how exactly I should handle this and even contacting child therapist to evaluate the situation and the appropriateness of my reaction —or whether I should be reacting at all. (Since when did my parenting become an exact science, a vocation filled with impending traps and disasters instead of the adventure it was meant to be?)

Perhaps you are wondering why there is such a difference between my biological and adopted kids, and I think this is it: by the time my other children were this age, I felt a certain sturdiness around them. With Tadesse and Biruk, though, I suppose that somewhere inside I still worry that I am going to break them.

Remember that first time you held a newborn baby, when your mom reminded you to support the baby's head, to speak softly, and to sway slowly back and forth? Newborns are physically fragile. My default setting is to assume my Tadesse and Biruk are emotionally fragile. The truth is more likely that they are the strongest of  all my children in some ways. They have faced grief and fears and hunger and want, yet here they are. I so want to give them a perfect life to make up for all that they've experienced, but I can't. Try as I might, our family has its own brand of dysfunction, just as every family does.

At times I lack confidence to just raise them, pray for them, and watch them metamorphose in front of me. Instead, I look for my mistakes to manifest themselves. See that greed for stuff? That's because we gave them too much at Christmas. See how he feels like he doesn't belong? That would be because I left those pre-adoption family photos up too long.

Still, when I went to supper with Biruk tonight, I asked him what he likes about America and about living with us. He said, "People. Houses. Clothes. Shoes. Food. Beds. Mom, Dad, Elijah, Kaylee, Caleb, Tadesse." He doesn't seem to feel like he is lacking anything.

Sometimes (yes, all the time) I over-complicate things. It could be a lack of sleep or a lack of chocolate or a lack of faith. Regardless, it's time for me to let some of this go—to remember that if God brought us to it, He will bring us through it. We cannot quit working at our relationship building, but we can be at peace through the process: watching the unfolding lives before us and remembering constantly to give God thanks.

What I Know

We are in the midst of a difficult week. Behaviors seem illogical and we are often left scratching our heads, trying to make sense of things far beyond our understanding.

I may not know a lot, but here's what I do know:

1. I cannot control someone else's attitude, but I can control my own.

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you" (Philippians 4: 8-9).

2. I do not need to own someone else's problems, but I can help when he is ready.

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up" (Galatians 6: 9).

3. Prayer is effective.

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know"(Jeremiah 33: 3).

4. Worry is not.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid" (John 14: 27).

5. God is in control.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you" (Deuteronomy 31: 6).

6. God's timing is perfect.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end" (Ecclesiastes 3: 11).

7. I can't expect to know all the answers, but I can rest in knowing that God does. 

"Great is our Lord and mighty in power; His understanding has no limit" (Psalm 147: 5).

8. I must strive to be patient.

"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer" (Romans 12: 12).

9. My love may not be perfect, but I need to love anyway.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins" (1 Peter 4: 8).

10.  I can find blessings in the little things.

"Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus" (1 Thessalonians 5: 18).

11. I am loved.

"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent His one and only Son into the world that we might live through Him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and His love is made complete in us" (1 John 4: 9-12).

Tough Times and God's Grace

As I read through the Bible, I frequently come across a story or a quote that reminds me how I should respond to situations in my life. Many times as I put my Bible down and stand up, getting ready to start my day, I feel convicted to a particular action or to a more positive attitude.

Once in a while, though, it works the other way, and my daily life helps me to understand the Bible.

Adopted kids and biological kids are different. Raising them is different. Praying for them is different. If you are considering adoption and think that you are going to come home from the airport, have a little party, and resume life as normal, you are simply mistaken. 

As much as I get frustrated with behaviors and attitudes, I have to remember to love first because without love and grace, nothing will change for my son.

When we adopted our boys, we did so knowing that they came from a tough place. We won't go into specifics (and don't even know that many), but life in rural Ethiopia is wearisome. Everyone must work to provide for the family. No one seems to have enough food. So we adopted these boys knowing they would have some issues with trust and attachment, fear and control. We decided that we would love them first, then work on the rough places together.

Today I was told that we are a "bad family" and that my son wanted to return to Ethiopia. (Insert long pause and sigh on my part.) This is all expected behavior, and though I can pretend it doesn't hurt when I am in front of him, a lump forms in my throat as soon as I walk away. I wish I could say, "Don't you understand how much I love you?  How much I have prayed for you? How hard this is on all of us?" And in my more selfish moments—"How much I have done for you?" Yet this boy cannot feel my love because he is swimming in a sea of hurt and rejection. He feels lost, abandoned, and alone in his feelings.On top of that, he has no words with which to explain his pain. Do I wade out into those murky waters and pull him in to safety, understanding that it may pull me under as well? Do I stand where it's safe and just keep throwing out the lifelines, hoping one of these days he will grab on?

And then I remember God and His love for us: "But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8). That means he died for  adulterers, gossips, overeaters, liars, alcoholics, drug addicts, thieves. He died for you and for me. He died for my son. To comprehend that love, I make comparisons in my own life and find that the closest thing is the love that I have for my son, although my version of agape love is so inferior to His. 

When Tadesse asked if he could be in football this summer and I said yes, he looked at me with a far-off look in his eyes and said, "And Mom--you look? You say, 'Yay, yay'?" Of course, I answered, because that's what moms do. They celebrate every personal victory. Moms root for their kids no matter what. My kids don't always hear Jerome's and my conversations about them. We talk about improvements in language, the smiles and hugs we receive, progress and success in school, the way they are growing into their sibling roles. And when they struggle, we struggle. Although I can acknowledge that his inner turmoil is his to own and overcome, I still hurt when he hurts.

It's impossible for me to truly understand God's role as our Father—that our struggles are His struggles, that as we cry out in prayer, He is vigilant. He counts our tears. When we emerge, victorious from life's difficulties, He is that cheering parent on the football sideline. He is the one saying, "I knew you could do it!"

My kids aren't perfect. I'm not perfect. I guess if we were, God would have no reason to sacrifice His Son for us. We have so far to go, but it comforts me so much to know that my Father is cheering at every eked-out moment of patience, every gift of grace, every time we choose love over anger. I rest in His promise:

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose (Romans 8:26-28).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.