Divine Moments has Moved

I am excited to announce that Divine Moments has a new home.  

www.adoptingdivinemoments.com

I am hoping that you will join us in our new space.  

We will be having an "OPEN HOUSE" with a big giveaway the beginning of March with a goal to grow the Divine Moments Facebook community to 300 by then!  In the mean time I am slowly settling in and trying to get accustomed to the new layout of our new home.  

If you are a "follower" of this site, please make sure you update your subscription on the new page so you don't miss out.  

Thanks again for being the best readers/community around!  

True Grit

This month we celebrated Zalen being part of our family for 2 years.  We have been on this adoption journey for about 3 years.  It is a journey with ups and downs and twists and turns.  Generally speaking, the chronicles of parenting could be described in the same way.  Yet, adoption comes with a unique undisclosed path that can be overwhelming at times.  If I could shout one message from the roof tops three years later it would be this: "The journey doesn't end after the airport!" 

I read a lot of books and blogs and did my best to prepare myself for what may lay ahead.  I tried to wrap my mind around all the "adoption talk" and go in with realistic expectations.  I drank up adoption blogs and tucked away nuggets of wisdom from those who had traveled the road before me.  I am thankful I did.  I have turned to that advice often.  I also prayed and asked that God would give me the wisdom I needed to parent this child.  The stark naked truth is this, no amount of mental preparation can protect the heart from the rawness that experience brings.  The matters of the soul and heart can not be dictated by such boundaries.  

I experienced so much in each stage of our adoption.  Each stage is part of the process and I would never undermine the lessons learned during each one.  God understands the heart and realizes our fleshly limits.  Yet, I can honestly say it has been in the last two years that I've learned the most.  Upon returning home with Zalen, I began to navigate the unknown and so many times I felt utterly alone.  For me, it is where the sifting for "True Grit" began.

Yes, that quote is from an old John Wayne movie that was recently redone called "True Grit".  I am not a big fan of westerns but my husband is, so once in awhile I get roped in (get the pun? ba ha ha) to watching them.  If you haven't watched the movie this quote comes from a young courageous girl that is looking for a man with "True Grit" to avenge her father's death.  Now exactly what this "true grit" encompasses is defined by the viewer in this story, but here is one way that is is defined:

The truth is I couldn't disagree more.  My definition of "True Grit" has nothing to do with being courageous.  It has everything to do with being empty, yielded, available, vulnerable....  To me grit happens by being persistent through the hard over and over.  It is produced by hitting rock bottom over and over again, and still getting back up to fight again.

Grit develops in loving despite the cost and I am not talking financial here.  I am talking about each individual in the family - mom, dad, brother, sister - that says we are in this for the long haul.  To the family who commits to love a child that may not know how to love back.  To the family that says no in order to say yes.  I am talking about the unwavering commitment of continued self denial.  I witnessed "true grit" as Aleigh, Avery and Ryan willingly denied themselves to make room for one more.  It wasn't always easy for them but they did it.  In the praying, the waiting, the arrival, and even now.  I have watched them stand up for their brother in ways that bring me to tears. 

Adoption does not require "unyielding courage" it requires being completed surrendered.  That is where legit grit begins.   It begins when you stop saying, "I can't because ________" and you say "I'm listening and available."  It isn't a quest that ends in completion, but a beginning to a life altering journey.  A journey that tells you more of who you are not, then who you are.

Through the past year and half I feel God has been teaching me a lot about true grit of the surrendering kind.  I have hit rock bottom more times then I can count, feeling like a complete failure.  I shared a bit of my struggles in this post: "You ain't no leading lady"  It was a hard post to write because I felt so ashamed that I ever felt that way.  That I was tired of fighting.  That I wasn't sure if I was cut out for all of this.  I didn't even have the courage to write it until I talked with a friend of mine who was feeling so much of the same thing.  We both up to the point had suffered in silence. 

In my desperation for answers I came across this book: "A Place I Didn't Belong - Hope for Adoptive Moms" by Paula Freeman.  It really helped me to navigate a lot of the emotions that I had been harboring.  I didn't even really "get" some of those emotions until I read through this book.  All I knew was that I was struggling and I thought that if I hit rock bottom one more time I was never going to get back up.  I felt so misunderstood and it was such a sensitive topic it was just hard to talk about.  I welcomed the book, because it was more of a guide that encouraged me then pages full of judgement.  The back of the book reads: "This book is a gracious invitation to emotional healing and spiritual renewal that assures us we can be OK when our kids are not!"  That was so what I needed.

All I am saying is that the process of developing "true grit" leaves it mark.  Just because we acknowledge it and feel it doesn't mean we failed.  It just means that this part of the journey has left us a bit wounded.  A bit tired.  I hope in writing this I have encouraged your heart to get back up again and keep fighting.  I hope I have given you a resource to help you through this "season".  That is why I remain passionate to keep this blog going, because the journey of faith continues and I am not sure what is around the bend.  I am sure that I don't want to go it alone.

Extra Padding?

I don’t even remember what it was that I did that brought forth these words from my mom , “You just wait until your Dad gets home!” 

They were the words you never wanted to hear as a child.  Those words meant that you had pushed mom over the edge.  Those words spoken carried a promise that your behavior warranted much more then extra chores or a time-out as a punishment.  Those words carried a guarantee that when Dad did arrive home, you would be receiving a spanking. 

So I went through the rest of the day fearing the inevitable.  As the clock tick-tocked its way to announcing Dad’s evening arrival I felt my heart racing.  I did not want a spanking.  I sat and thought about how I could get out of it.  I already had tried to bribe mom by being on my best behavior and coaxing her to lessen the punishment by telling her how much I loved her.  None of it had worked.

Then it hit me – a genius idea of epic proportion!  If I could not get out of the spanking I would limit the pain of the spanking.  All I needed was a bit of padding.  I decided to put on every pair of underwear I owned and a pair of shorts.  After much pulling and tugging I finally was able to edge up my pants concealing my plan to lessen the pain, or so I thought.  In my childish reasoning I didn’t think that my Dad would catch on that my bottom had doubled in size overnight.  Desperation to avoid the consequences of my behavior overruled such reasoning.

I hid in my room as I heard the rumbling of his truck weaving down the gravel road.  I could hear my heart pounding as the engine stilled in the driveway.  I listened intently trying to hear the murmurs as mom and him talked and knew she was handing him the guilty verdict.

Then the dreaded words were uttered, “Tessy, get in here right now!”

I walked in carefully, trying not to waddle, as my extra padding was feeling a bit awkward with each step.  I was read my sentence and explained that for justice to be served I must incur my spanking.  I tried to act fearful so I would not bring suspicion to my altered area.   Time seemed to still and I wondered if I had layered enough when I heard a restrained snicker.  I turned to see my Dad holding in tremors of laughter as he attempted a stern reply, “What did you do?”

I looked up at him, unsure whether the laughter would last, knowing that my plan was spoiled.  With tears in my eyes I confessed all.  Needless to say I did get out of a spanking that day.

I tell this true childhood story, which is a bit embarrassing; to illustrate a point that discipline can be painful.  Hebrews 12:11 reads “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”

As I child I was so afraid of the pain that discipline would bring that I went to extreme measures to get out of it.  The discipline that I want to talk about today is the discipline from your Heavenly Father.  Let’s read a bit more in Hebrews “My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son. Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father?” (vs. 5-7) 

Enduring hardship as discipline?  Now that is a tough cookie to swallow.  Keep in my mind that it comes with a promise.  In the midst of the hardship we must not lose sight of that promise.  It will produce a harvest of righteousness and peace. Hebrews 12, verse 10 goes on to say – “Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness.”  All discipline, all hardships are ultimately for our good, whether we understand it or not.  Many times it leads us to a deeper dependence on God and allows us to share more intimately in his holiness. 

I just wonder how many of us try to skip out on God's discipline in our lives and try to “pad” ourselves from the pain.  We question the hardship and feel punished, instead of seeing God as a loving Father, drawing us close.  In this we reject the training and the peace that can come from it.  Or maybe you are like me and try to make light of it excusing the need to change.  If we took the rebuke to heart it would cost us something.  Something we may not be willing to give up.  If we take this route, we can really miss it, for there is a Godly goodness in discipline.  A gift that draws us closer to Him in the midst of our hardship and pain.

I encourage you to find the perspective of truth shouting from the words above.  The perspective of a loving Father who knows what is best for you.  Lately, for me, focusing on that promise has helped me to endure with a purpose that far exceeds human capacity.  I pray that it will do the same for you.

Our Gotcha Day Celebration

Last Wednesday, January 15th, we celebrated our Gotcha Day.  Two years from that date, we met our son Zalen for the first time.  In fact most of the month of January I am a bit of an emotional mess.  I was so excited to try out some recipes from my new "Congolese Keepsake Cookbook".  Interested in snagging a copy, just head over to CreationsForCongo.  I do believe she has a few more copies for sell.  Last year I cooked mpondu from frozen cassava and chicken in peanut-tomato sauce.  If you want a few more ideas on celebrating Gotcha Day or just some fun ideas to share Congolese culture you can check out that post as well: One Year Celebration.

When the kids arrived home from school we had french fries (pomme frites) that we dipped in mayo.  The Congolese love their mayo and when dining in-country they always served fries with a side of it.  

I decided as a main course I would make Meat Moambé.  Moambé is often considered the national dish of Congo.  What I really missed was the pili pili.  Last year I found a sauce at a store that sold ethnic foods.  I had picked up some palm oil at the natural foods store and some Cassava chips as well. I served the Moambé over rice.

 

After getting the rice on, I started on simple nguba soup, another recipe found in my Congolese Keepsake cookbook.  I wanted something we could dip our Fufu in.

 

With the nguba soup simmering I was ready to test out my arm muscles on some good ol fufu.  For the record I am not a fan of fufu.  Last year Zalen ate it up.  This year even he didn't like it as well.  

 

Even after stirring it like crazy and having Craig come in to help I still don't think I got it to the desired consistency.  The year before I had used a mix that I found at the same store I got the hot pili-pili like sauce.  I was hoping the above combination would make the fufu taste a little better.  It really didn't.  

Here is a look at the finished meal.  Everyone enjoyed the Moambé.  They said the peanut soup was ok.  I don't think anyone was a fan of the fufu.  

 

 

This boy was excited about the food and celebrating his beautiful Congolese heritage.   Of course we had Fanta to drink. 

The best we saved for last - Fried plantains rolled in a bit of sugar.  Yum! 

All in all, it was a fun celebration.  Craig asked if I was going to cook Lebanese next year because we ate that a few times while in-country.  We will see.

Happy Two Years home Zalen Moise Fuller!  

We are so thankful for the gift of you in our lives.

Happy Gotcha Day

Happy Gotcha Day! JANUARY 15TH - Remembering so many moments from two years ago.  It still catches me off guard, the rawness of that emotion still fresh on my heart.

 

 

And if you haven't seen it here is our Gotcha Video

Meeting Zalen for the first time - It gets me every time.

Feeling beyond blessed!  We will be celebrating today with a special Congolese meal this evening as we celebrate Zalen joining our family. (can't wait to try out the recipes in my Congolese Keepsake Cookbook)  I will post pictures of our celebration on Friday. 

Don't Chicken Out

It is hard to imagine, after enjoying the beautiful 50 degree day yesterday, that schools were closed just last week due to the bitter cold.  During that bitter cold spell many advisories were issued.  One of those advisories was to make sure you made proper arrangements for your outside pets.

Our pets are two Bantam roosters named Roadrunner and Speckles.  Due to the limitations of their coop, there was not ample space for them to nest under a heat light so I grudgingly agreed to allow the duo to move into the garage.

The thing is, the garage is right next to our bedroom.  The other thing is, I have this super sonic hearing issue and noises drive me crazy.  I knew there would be a lot of late night ruckus and early morning crowing and I was not looking forward to it. 

The husband lovingly set up their temporary space in the garage.  He crafted a comfortable bed of hay adorned with a top notch heat lamp that would ebb out the creeping cold during the freezing temperatures.  Around the nest of hay, he provided complimentary feed and drink to make their stay as comfortable as possible.  He deposited the chickens into the bed of hay and bid them good night. 

Before the evening ended he returned back to the garage to see how the chickens were doing in their new environment.  As he swung open the door he took in Road Runner and Speckles perched upon a pile of sleds and other garage goodies.  They cackled their alarm at his arrival and he shook his head in disbelief.  The comfortable bed of hay lay empty.  They had made preference their instinct to roost elevated, hoping to escape the potential danger that lurked below.  In their fear they rejected the protection of the bed of straw and warm light their keeper had set up for their benefit.  There was no way for them to know that the forecast would plummet to temperatures that would threaten their safety, but my husband, the keeper, did. 

I wonder how many times in this life do we respond to God’s leading with such absurd measures?  We go with the comfortable, with what we know, and take our perch.  We reject the new, due to fear of it being different.  We settle with how it has always been instead of trusting in the light and protection of the keeper.  To put it simply, we chicken out.

The problem in the above scenario is that the chickens did not trust their keeper.  They quickly reverted back to their primal instinct, fear.  If we allow that fear to reign it pushes out trust.  If we don't trust, we tend to fight.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear.....” -- 1 John 4:18

I am not sure where you are at in your journey, but I do know this: You have a keeper that dearly loves you.  I do not know the avenue of fear that may hold you hostage, but I do know this: He is worth the risk to leave the perch you have always known.  

This life, that is just a vapor, was meant to be lived in the the light and warmth of His goodness.  It was not meant to be lived in darkness, clinging to regrets.  Even our stubborn chickens eventually realized this.  It took some coaxing from the keeper, but eventually they trusted the light and realized his set up was way better then their own.  I think we would be well off to do the same.

My friend, life is too short and precariously precious to chicken out and let fear rule.  Let it go, and trust God to be your keeper.



Heart to Heart

I have been doing a little dreaming lately.  I have watched this little blog of mine evolve over the past few years.  I feel a soul itch to take it even further.

This past year it has taken on a "community" feel that I love.  It has grown to be a hub of many things that I love.  The addition of the facebook page has helped me connect more with my readers.  It has stood as a gateway to connect community to some great non-for-profits and projects.  I pray that it has been a source of encouragement as well.

I am going to let you in on a little secret, I have always dreamed to be a writer.  To encourage people through sharing my story and words written.  This blog has in many ways reawakened that dream.  Your feedback and comments have unshackled some bonds of fear in this area.  I thank you for that and those that dared me to live out this dream. 

With that said, I soon plan to move "Divine Moments" to a new home.  We have greatly enjoyed our time here but to achieve some of the goals I need to complete on the daunting task of "taking writing more seriously" we must move on.  I will announce our new address soon.  I invite you to be a frequent guest.  Once I move in, I hope you will invite your friends to visit as well.

Since Africa, my passion has not ebbed a bit.  If anything it has grown.  I have come to realize the importance of not just telling my story, but connecting with the story of others as well.  I hope to do more and more of this in the year ahead. 

I want to encourage others in their journey, no matter their passion.  Yes, there will be many a verse about Africa/Congo, adoption, orphans, and social justice as that is the current song of my heart.  While that is a lot of the content, it is not my dream.  It is the rhythm that I want you to feel.  It is the rhythm I pray you find... as you and I both learn to dance in moments divine.  

In the weeks ahead, I will be busy moving and then I will announce our new home.  I am sure there will be a giveaway.  I hope you will continue to be part of this as we encourage one another in this journey of life and faith. 

Dreaming big in 2014 and I hope you will join me!

The mess of being real

In our house it is normal for us to keep up our Christmas decorations to usher in the New Year as well.  I always feel the house seems so bare when I take it all down.  On Jan 2nd, with mixed emotions I started to put everything away to store away for another year.

I started taking off the ornaments and with every unhooking the tree looked more barren.  The branches seemed to sigh with relief when the heavier ornaments were removed.  Despite the weight of the ornament, with each removal the needles would fall silently as I stripped it from the branch.  There was already a good pile assembled on the skirt below to cushion the descent of the freshly fallen.  The tree devoid of all adornment, I dragged Mr. Peppy across the snow to the burn pile in the backyard.  I then turned and followed the trail of needles back into the house.  As I grabbed my broom and dust pan the conversation I had with my oldest during the putting away replayed in my mind.

"Mom, look at all the mess this tree makes.  Are we going to have to clean up all those needles?  Why don't we just get a fake tree?  If we did, you would not have to clean up all those needles everywhere.  I think we should get a fake tree next year.  It would be so much easier."

The needles swept up easily on the hard wood floor, but I had reached the part of the trail that had turned carpet.  I sighed.  It was quite a mess.  I swept up what I could but there is always the ones that some how manage to weave into the fibers of the carpet.  I eased myself down onto the floor and started weaving out the ones that had intended to stay.  My heart was an emotional mess.  The new year had not started as I planned.  Emotions were brimming just below the surface.  As I plucked them out one by one... this thought came to mind... there is a price for being real.  Real is messy.

With every brittle pine needle I plucked I could feel the very cost of that, being real.  I have never been much of a pretender.  If I am hurting, you will know it.  If I am happy, you will know it.  I have coping mechanisms like everyone, but I am horribly awful at putting on a farce.  Be careful when you ask me the rhetorical question, "How are you?"  I am not the one who always answers "Fine."  I truly wish at times I was better at waltzing around the fragile questions of the heart.

A few tears slipped down my cheeks.  The burdens I was bearing seemed overwhelming, but living life less because you don't want the mess is just not an option for me anymore.  I want the real.

I love real Christmas trees and the adventure of picking out a different tree each year.  They are never the same and each year seem to have their own personalities.  In fact, so much so my children started a tradition of naming the tree each year.  This year Zalen named our tree Mr. Peppy.  Besides that, no scentsy or candle will ever suffice to the earthy fragrance of a real tree.  In my opinion the benefits far outweigh the cost of the mess.

I struggle with being real sometimes.  I feel I threaten those that live in glass castles.  With all the needles plucked from the carpet and swept from the floor I stood.  I leaned backward, feeling the crook in the back where I had leaned and swooped during the plucking.  With that task done, I picked up the pile of Christmas books to stow back away into the almost full tote.  On top of the pile was the "Velveteen Rabbit".  A wry smile played upon my lips.

It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand. ― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

  God answers us in funny ways sometimes.

I was struggling a lot with people who didn't understand. Even then, in that moment, where I was feeling loose in the joints and quite shabby, I found a deep seated comfort in embracing the mess that makes me real. 

For those of you who are living life real and feeling defeated, alone or misunderstood, hang on.  We are in a process of "becoming" and it is a process.