Even puppies

"We are in agreement, Lord,

that you are worthy of all praise."

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook on Friday. It came at a great time for me as this week has been yet another lesson in trusting God and the leading of the Holy Spirit.

I know that God has promised victory for Victor. I trust that promise. I trust that it will come. And some days I am willing to wait to see it come to pass.

Other days I'm done. I'm very done. I can't take it any more. For the past few months, on the really bad days, I'd think (sadly) that I just wanted him medicated and a zombie. I'd wish (ashamedly) that he was zombie-like instead of so angry and aggressive.

As I've prayed for Victor and for that victory, I've felt like 2019 is going to be a year to see change. I've been asked to wait patiently. But I'm not a patient person. I wanted to call a neuro-psych and get the kid medicated. I'm not opposed to meds but I'd rather try everything else first. I told myself that we've tried everything else, it's time for medication. But I felt this still, small voice telling me to wait. I dismissed the still, small voice, because, well, that whole patience problem. So I called anyway. And hit brick wall after brick wall after brick wall... Doctor's office couldn't find a specialist currently accepting new patients, insurance company never sent me the promised email with a list of doctors taking new patients, insurance company finally sent a list but then no one was accepting new patients, Hershey told me they'd only take him if another Hershey doc referred him, his Hershey ophthalmologist said they'd send over a referral, neuro-psych said they'd call us to schedule an appointment but never did...

Then a few weeks ago, I felt like I was supposed to look into getting a dog. I dismissed it. I'm the dog lover and certainly didn't want to be the driver of this idea and besides, I argued, I don't have time for a dog right now. But that voice kept coming. I kept dismissing it. Then last Wednesday, Victor was listening to an Adventures in Odyssey cassette, a story about someone getting a dog. Okay, Lord, I'll look into it.

I checked out the local dog rescue but didn't really see anything that looked like a good fit for our family. Fine. But one click led to another and somehow I wound up on another rescue site and found myself looking into these puppy dog eyes.

Oh dear. And she was a jug (jack russell terrier and pug), a breed I've often said I'd like to get. Her name was Ocean. Everyone knows I love the ocean, right? But no, there's no way the Good Doctor is going to go for this idea. But he did. "Well," he said, "It might be the best thing for Victor." Seriously, God? But the more I read about Ocean, I saw that she was the most energetic in the litter of three. And more expensive than I'd like to pay for a rescue. And 10 weeks old? Really? A puppy? Now? Oreo, on the other hand, was the calmest of the bunch. So I looked to inquire about Oreo. But first I had to apply and be accepted. Three hours later I got my acceptance email and the next day received a phone call. Apparently all the dogs were taken but Ocean. Was I interested?

There was that one little issue about energy level. "Oh," the foster mom told me, "I have to put down characteristics for all the dogs. I wrote that because she's always the first one to great someone who walks in the room. She's no more energetic than a normal puppy. In fact, we'd take any of these girls ourselves. They're great."

Okay, God. I'm listening. Yesterday morning found us in Ocean's living room. Even though we went there saying we were just looking, we came home with a dog. And I may or may not have pre-purchased a few necessities "just in case". Hey, I saved the receipts!

Lucy Ocean King

Because the Kings have a habit of keeping birth names as middle names

And I do love the ocean, after all

Lucy and Victor had a great day yesterday. I never would have guessed. And I am amazed that God uses puppies in His plans. A neuro psych and meds might be in our future. We'll see. But for now, all are enjoying puppy snuggles and puppy playtime and puppy kisses. And as far as puppies go, she only woke up once last night and after just one housebreaking accident when first arriving home, she's gone outside every. single. time. Oh, and she already knows how to sit.

Another 18 year old

Happy birthday to the best co-pilot. You're calm, great at interpreting GPS-speak, and best of all, you not only allow me to listen to the oldies station but join me in naming the songs and singing along. Unlike Victor but with an ear like your little brother, you never tell me that my singing sounds like garbage or fecal matter.

Happy 18 to a wonderful mommy's helper. You've always been so calm and sweet with your younger siblings. When Victor came along, I could always count on you to swoop in and give me a break, even when a break wasn't needed. You are so often available to babysit and do so without complaint even when your little charge spews his worst.

Eden

Eden

HopeAnne

Victor

Victor

Victor

Happiest of days to a great sous-chef. In my absence, I know you can be trusted to follow my plan for the evening's meal. In my presence, you're the one I seek for spice experimentation. You haven't failed us yet.

Hippo Bird Day to my go-to fix-it man. When Mr. Victor has broken yet another toy or needs some fix-it help and it's not an easy mom fix, you're the one we turn to. Thank you for all of your help.

Isaac, may the blessing you are to others return to you on this, your special day. I'm enjoying each and every phase of life with you and know that as you transition to life beyond the King confines, you'll continue to bless, inspire, encourage, and support others.

Of mice and men

I don't know what would possess a man to set a mouse trap and then not sit there, staring at said trap, until the mouse in question shows up for her demise? And this not being just any mouse but a mouse brazen enough to run right past the Good Doctor, myself and Victor, while we were sitting at the dining room table. Victor! Remember, this child is not quiet nor does he sit still. The mouse just ran right on past us as if we were the ones interrupting his dinner party.

What would possess a man to think that I would enjoy finding said mouse once this has all transpired?

What would possess a man to think that I would want to dispose of said mouse?

No, I am not a feminist. And no, I don't have a problem with gender roles in the home. Obviously. The Good Doctor's role is to catch mice and dispose of them, before I see them, and without speaking of such activities. My role is to put the mac and cheese in the crock pot for supper. Which is what I was doing when I just happened to look down and found not just a mouse trap at my feet but a mouse trap with a (horrors!) mouse attached. How on earth was I to continue at that point?

Thankfully I found a way.

And I know what all of you feminists are asking, "How would she handle life if she didn't have a husband?"

Well, guess what? Why do you think I have so many children? At least one of them will likely stay in the area and at least one of them will not have a problem setting traps and watching for their success so they can dispose of the whole business before I have to make the mac and cheese. For the children.

Right?

A mutant apple

We have an eclectic collection of soup bowls painted by family members and significant others. Soup is such an easy meal when the masses are home but I was quickly running out of bowls to meet the need.

I know. Stop adding kids.

I did. But now they are the ones bringing more bodies home. And these new ones stay, too.

It doesn't look like it will end any time soon (and I don't want it to!) So we solved the problem, and exercised our creativity at the same time, with a fun soup bowl collection. Some of us may or may not have gone more than once. We may or may not be addicted. We may or may not keep going since this family isn't downsizing anytime soon. And having a plan at Color Me Mine is much better than coming home with a painted frog trinket. Just sayin'.

Until just recently, Victor and Sarah were the only ones who hadn't contributed to our collection. And while we're still working on getting Sarah to a Color Me Mine either in Kentucky or PA or wherever she wants to go, I finally got brave enough to take Victor over the Christmas holidays.

It was between all that stomach bug ickiness. A small portion of the family, those deemed most bug-resistant and those been-there-done-that-not-getting-that-bug-again and those who know how to travel in a packed car without hitting, biting, kicking, scratching or spitting on others, had headed out to visit the relatives in Ohio. Jesse and Megan offered to help with Victor for an evening so I proposed my plan...

I'll go to Color Me Mine and paint the obligatory three coats, alert Jesse and Megan as to when they could bring Victor to the mall, he'd add some paint, and then they could whisk him away while I cleaned up. This way it wouldn't matter what Mr. Victor did, the bowl would be sufficiently covered. I assumed he'd haphazardly paint and it wouldn't really look like anything, but would still hold soup so would meet my goal.

We explained this plan to him and mentioned that Isaac's bowl looks like a watermelon. That's all Victor needed to hear, he decided that he was making an apple.

Ok then. He worked very hard to cover the whole outside in red and asked me to help fill in when he couldn't adequately see all of the still-white patches. Which was just fine with me. I was itching to get my own bowl made so pacified myself by helping him.

Not bad. He did originally ask me to help him make 20 seeds inside his apple.

We compromised with six. I know. I know. It's his project. I should have let him make as many as he wanted. But my perfectionist side just couldn't do it. And while six is still a mutant apple, it looks more apple-y than an apple with twenty seeds.

History

Raising kids from hard places means that we think about their histories a lot. Some of their past is known, other parts we can only guess. We learn as we go. We would never insist that their pasts don't affect their present and their futures. Instead, we sit with them as they find their voices and do the hard work of healing. It's messy, but it's necessary. And as believers, we are reminded that God doesn't waste any of those hurts and when each child is ready, He will use those for His glory and for His Kingdom.

But how often do we look at our own pasts? Too often, our past hurts trigger us as we walk the healing journey with our kids. We, too, need to do the difficult work of healing from the past. We, too, need to look at our histories, acknowledge and heal. There is no shame, and no blame. Just healing and allowing God to use our healing journey to help our kids heal.

In his Introduction to the History Books in The Message, Eugene Peterson says, "History is the medium in which God works salvation...We cannot get closer to God by distancing ourselves from the mess of history." Oh how clearly I can see this in one of my own who refuses to look at or acknowledge a deeply painful history. How clearly rebelliousness and self-imposed blindness are negatively impacting the present with unpredictable consequences for the future. And how clearly walls have been built to preserve a false sense of safety from God and others.

It is my prayer that all of my children will be able to see their histories as "the medium in which God works salvation", and that true healing can only come from Him. Only then will the mess of our histories lead to salvation, our own and others. But I can't stop there. I must also pray for myself because it is only in seeing my history for what it is, that I will be able to lead my kids there as well.

I myself go with you

There is this misconception that life is supposed to be easy. I honestly have no idea where it comes from. Look around. Look at every single God follower in the Bible. Which one had it easy?

And sometimes it's there in black-and-white.

Deuteronomy is a very long sermon given by Moses, summarizing the 40 year exodus and pleading with the people once again to remain faithful to the God who saved them from slavery, fed them in the wilderness, and showed them numerous signs and wonders. It's also a not-very-subtle picture into the future, of what will happen if/when the people turn to other gods.

And after all of these dire warnings and predictions for the future, God says to Joshua, "Okay, Joshua,  you have just heard that these people are going to disobey me and I will cause disease and loses in war and slavery and death for these people. Moses laid it all out very clearly and you know that you're next in line to lead these folks so be strong and courageous, for you are going to do what I've asked, and I myself will be with you." (Deut. 31:23)

Okay, there are really only 2 phrases in my paraphrase that actually come from the Bible, but you get the gist. Life is going to be hard. But I've called you to step into the midst of it. So be strong and courageous and God will be with you.

So to my fellow travelers, life is hard. Be strong and courageous. God is with you.

Resolve

Today was a good day to reflect on the year gone by and to look ahead to the one before me. Sea air will do that for you.

For the past several years I've allowed the Holy Spirit to whisper a word to me for the coming year. It usually takes a few days, and trying a few words on for size.

As I narrowed it down, coddiwomple came in second place, but not far from first.

Coddiwomple: English slang. To travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination.

I liked it. So many ways to go with that. I sat with it for a few days and wondered, Can you use a word that isn't really a word as your word? Even as I type this, I'm thinking I might go back to second place.

But the word that came in first was resolve. It came to my attention as I was reading in Deuteronomy, from the Message Translation:

Attention, Israel. In a few minutes you're going to do battle with your enemies. 

Don't waver in resolve. Don't fear. Don't hesitate. Don't panic.

God, your God, is right there with you, fighting with you against your enemies, 

fighting to win.

Deuteronomy 20:3-4

Reading this last book of the Pentateuch, from this translation, I'm finding how much I love this book and Moses' last words to his people.

You see, there are some situations in my family that I've been doing some mighty battle over. And I love these reminders that just as God was with the Israelites when they fought physical battles with human armies, He is with me fighting spiritual battles. My jobs are to know that there is a spiritual battle, to be prepared, and to follow Him into the battle while not wavering in resolve, not living in fear, not hesitating or panicking.

Resolve: to settle or find a solution; to disperse, subside, or heal; to decide firmly on a course of action; to turn into a different form when seen more clearly; firm determination to do something

Synonym: Coddiwomple

Okay, I made that last part up.  But... A firm determination to heal, find a solution, and do something through a decided course of action while traveling toward an as-yet-unknown destination to see something more clearly...sounds like the perfect word for 2019.

Dolly and the gingerbread man

Back in my teaching days it was Flat Stanley. We hadn't gotten Pinterest-quality creative yet. We probably read about it in some teaching magazine. For which we had to wait a whole month to get creative again. But it worked. And we probably used our own creativity a bit more because of it and it didn't hurt at all. Since we had just read Flat Stanley at home right before Andrew's surgery at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, we took his flat friend along to the hospital with us. I think that was a first for the nurses and doctors but they were accommodating.

Nowadays it can be a flat anything.

Victor's class spent the month of December reading different versions of the Gingerbread Man. Victor tells me that Gingerbread Girl was his favorite because she doesn't get eaten.

On the last day before Christmas break, Victor came home with a Gingerbread Man that he had decorated himself and a letter instructing us to mail it to someone, requesting a postcard be sent to the class in return.

I asked Victor who we should send it to.

He said, "Dolly Parton!" As if that should be the easiest task in the world, with the highest degree of success in follow-up. Which is what the class is looking for, right?

I suggested, "How about Mariana in New York?"

His rebuttal was, "That's too close! I want to send it far, far away."
(Mariana was heart-broken to hear this.)

"How about Andrew and Sarah in Kentucky?"

"No!"

"Okay, how about Cousin Molly in the faraway midwest?"

"No, that's too close!"

"Aunt Katrina in Utah?"

"Is that far away?"

"Oh, yes, veeerrrrrryyyyyy far away. Utah is where you were born. Remember the story?"

"No, not Utah, either!"

"Okay, Victor, so where should we send your Gingerbread Man? You have to send it somewhere."

Not to be deterred, Victor responded with, "How about Tennessee?"

Defeated, I consulted Google. Sure enough, I found Dolly Parton's address in Tennessee.

I did feel as if the letter to Victor's soon-to-be friend Dolly needed a bit of explanation so added my own note to the back.

This gingerbread man is being sent to you 

by Victor King. Victor is a 5 year old visually 

impaired little boy. When Victor brought home

his gingerbread man with instructions to mail it

to someone, he immediately said, "Dolly Parton!"

Victor loves music and has many musical

favorites such as Elvis, Johnny Cash, Frank Sinatra, 

and the Beatles. with perfect pitch, he 

is very selective but Dolly Parton is on his

list of favorites. He owns a CD and often requests

her music on Alexa. He was thrilled to learn

that it is because of Dolly Parton that he gets

Braille books in the mail. He has dreams of 

visiting Tennessee someday. So, I am honoring

his wishes by sending this gingerbread man to

you and hope you'll be able to send a postcard

to his class.

And, once again, I wrote a letter of warning to his teacher. I do what I can.

Who knows? This is my sweet talking 5 year old. And she does send him books through the Dolly Parton Imagination Library so we'll see.

To be continued...