2014

Someone told me once "the days go by slowly, but the years fly by." Or something like that. Whatever the exact wording, it's so very true. I'm not sure the rule really goes into effect until you're older than 30, but it seems every year about this time I stop and think "Well. That was fast."

This year has found us venturing into the beautiful, broken world of foster care, walking with my dad through his cancer diagnosis, changing school situations and churches, falling more in love with our city and neighborhood, and increasing the total number of teenagers in our home from one to two. 

2014 has definitely been a roller coaster. We've seen God work in our family, in other families, in our city, and in other nations in great ways. We've also had moments of begging Him to break the silence and show us His glory. We've questioned circumstances and celebrated victories. We've watched our kids grow in their knowledge of the gospel and tried our best to guide them through deep anxiety and doubts. While Kyle and I celebrated 15 years of marriage this year, we've also had to cry out to Him to unite us and heal broken places in our marriage.

I love taking time to look back. God often tells us in scripture to not forget what He has done. I want to be reminded of how He has worked and be able to tell my children what God has done. Looking back reminds me of His goodness.

I'm not as good at looking forward. Thinking about the future can fill me with worry and fear unless I remember that my God is sovereign.  I desire to be the woman who "laughs without fear of the future."  So I'm anticipating 2015 and whatever is ahead because I know that whatever God has planned is for His glory.

"The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy." - Psalm 126:3

The kids were thrilled with our first winter in VA! Lots of snows days. 

homeschool day at the capitol

Williamsburg

Jamestown

We've been working on the house since we moved in. The half-bath/laundry room was my winter project.

Tired of fighting with blogger to rotate this picture. Ellie finished 2nd grade at Watkins Elementary in June and started 3rd grade at home this year.

We took Kyle's brother and sis-in-law to DC in the spring.

Busch Gardens

Another picture that won't rotate. This is a picture our oldest foster daughter drew of her new "family." Foster care is definitely not for the faint-of-heart.

We spent the 4th of July at Kyle's parents' beach house. Ellie was a little melancholy that day. 

Jacob and I got to spend part of the 4th at urgent care with a badly infected elbow wound (from falling off his scooter).

We've watched this boy grow into an over 6 foot tall 14 year old this year!

First day of 9th, 7th, 6th, and 3rd grades

The boys and I at a Richmond Flying Squirrels baseball game

Merry Christmas from the Brogdons!

homeschool

Ellie has struggled with learning since she was a toddler. At age two, we had a speech therapist and an early childhood specialist in our home twice a week to work with her, in addition to everything we did on a daily basis. She went to preschool at ages 3 and 4, but when the time came for her to enter kindergarten, we decided to keep her at home an extra year. Surely, with an extra year to mature and do preschool work at home, she'd be ready for school.

The following year, we paused our homeschool journey to attend a private school. During this year, it became apparent that something more than just immaturity was going on. She was tested and received the diagnosis of "specific learning disability." The next two years, for first and second grade, she attended public school where she was eligible for special services. 

Last year, in the most wonderful school I've ever been a part of, with incredibly kind, supportive, competent teachers, I was told she did not meet our district's "learning disability" qualifications, and they would need to pull all services she had been receiving. Sitting at a conference table with teachers, special education specialists, school psychologists, social workers, and administrators, I heard each one express how concerned they were that Ellie would not succeed without these services in place. However, they were insistent that their hands were tied and there was nothing they could offer her.

They were correct. Ellie did not succeed. It was an uphill battle for the last half of the year. After much prayer, discussion, and uncertainty, we decided to bring her home this year. 

We are four weeks into school and I can say, without a doubt, that this is the most frustrating thing I have ever done. There have been many tears shed from both of us multiple times a day. She takes two baby steps forward and then 50 leaps backward.

I told a friend the other day how exceedingly hard this is. She said "What if Ellie coming home wasn't just for you to teach Ellie? What if God brought her home to teach you something?"

And I burst into tears. Partly because I'm almost 40 years old and the hormones are definitely not balanced. But mostly because she had just spoken TRUTH into my life.

God brought Ellie home. Not me. Not Kyle. And not the school system. And I can tell you with utmost certainty that while it is very good for Ellie, it is mostly for my good. You see,  the very ugly truth is that I am a sinful, selfish person.  I work best when everything goes according to my plan. I lose patience with people who don't keep in line with my expectations. I react out of anger when my plans fail, and I'm just generally not a nice person.  I have to ask forgiveness daily for telling God what I have planned and expecting Him to get on the same page.

Homeschooling Ellie forces me to cry out to God to show me His plans,  because mine? They don't even come close to succeeding. There is no way I can parent or homeschool this beautiful, creative, energetic, passionate daughter of mine on my own. I forget that multiple times an hour, but I'm so grateful I have a God who offers grace no matter how many times I fail.

Maybe by May, I'll have it all figured out.

But probably not.

Well. Four months can go by as fast as a greased pig. Not that I've ever had experience with greased pigs, but it seems like a fitting analogy. I could certainly win "Most Inconsistent Blogger of the Year" award. I'm not promising this post will lead to a blogging marathon, but I am hoping to write more frequently.

In the last four months, we have said goodbye to our fosters, found out my dad has cancer, visited friends and family from Virginia to Georgia to Mississippi, celebrated Jacob's 11th, Ellie's 9th and Lucas' 14th birthdays, and started school. It's been quite a busy summer!

We are now knee-deep in school, soccer, music lessons, and church activities. Lucas began high school this year, which I'm not certain I still fully grasp. He is taking half his classes at a homeschool co-op. He loves being with friends and having a teacher besides Mom, and I love that I'm not dissecting frogs or pigs in my kitchen. Win-win. Jacob and Noah are still fully at home. I think I'll have to pry them away in a couple of years to take classes out the house. Ellie is at home this year as well, after three years of public school. I have much to say about that, but it will have to wait. There is a whole lot of commotion going on that probably needs my attention.

Pushing through

When I'm running, hills are my nemesis. I hate them. Until recently, I would often just give up and walk until I was at the top. And then one day my wiser-than-I-am husband said "Don't give up. Put your head down, run and just push through" I admit I wasn't quick to take his advice. But, recently, I have been. You know what? It works. Sure it doesn't make it easy. It's still just as hard. But with my eyes looking only a step ahead of me, I am able to just push through and get to the top without giving up. 

This week of fostering has been like running up a hill. A very steep, incredibly long, no-end-in-sight hill. 

Tantrums and the silent treatment have left me bewildered, exhausted, and second guessing this decision. 

Yes, we've had some great laughs, fun, and breakthroughs. Probably more of them than the negative behaviors we see. And I will be sure to document those soon. 

But those negative behaviors can seem insurmountable in the middle of the moment.   

So I've taken a cue from running to get up this hill. I've just put my head down and am pushing through. We aren't at the top. I'm not sure we ever will be. Even in exhaustion, confusion and, yes, sometimes anger at the situation, I know God hasn't left us to do this alone. He loves these girls. He has equipped us. He is our strength. He is our hope. 

And with my eyes focused on that, and not the top of the hill, I can keep pushing through. 

Pray for us and the girls, please. Our God is able. 

Beautiful and broken

A few days ago, two little people walked into our home for the first time. Scared, confused, and not exactly happy to be here.

We smiled, welcomed them in and tried to make things seem normal. But we all felt it. This was anything but normal.

It's not normal to be taken away from your family. It's not normal to walk into a stranger's home and be expected to be a part of the family. It's not normal for that family to accept you with no conditions. 

No. Nothing about this is normal. But, it's reality everyday across the United States.

Our world is a very broken place. And in this part of the world, we try to remedy some of that brokenness with foster care. It's beautiful and restoring and healing. But it's also broken and heart wrenching and just. plain. hard. It shouldn't be needed. But it is.

We believe God calls us all to care for orphans and those who can't care for themselves, and this is how we will respond to that for a season. We are taking a risk and stepping out of our comfort zone. The past 4 days have been hard and emotional and exhausting. Will it be easy? No. Will we want to give up? We've already wanted to. Will it be worth the investment? Totally. Still - we're excited and scared and unsure of the months to come. 

But one thing we know - as broken as our world and this process are, our God is bigger. He can bring healing to these children and their family, and that is our prayer. Will you join us in praying for them? 

13

Dear 13 year old son,

So today hasn't been such a great day. You think I'm much too strict, too nosy, and too overprotective. I tell you what you can't eat, can't wear, and can't watch on television. I monitor the websites you go to and put filters on anything that even has a chance of connecting to the internet. 

I even banned the trick you came up with on the trampoline. That definitely didn't make me your friend. You stomped up the stairs mumbling under your breath. And I'm fairly certain it wasn't to rise up and call me blessed.

What I want you to know, son, is that your Dad and I?  We aren't the fun police, contrary to the rumors you hear. We aren't here to make your life a prison sentence that terminates when you turn 18. We aren't even here to be your best friend. (WHAT?!?!)

One day, I'm guessing, you're going to see the reason behind it all. You may never tell us, but I guarantee at some point you'll find yourself saying "I get it." 

Until that day please know that we set boundaries because we've seen the world out there that fights for your heart and mind and allegiances. We know what can happen if you eat pizza and hot dogs every meal for 10 years. We also know that you honestly believe you're invincible. We have rules and limits in place for you to protect you. God has given us this amazing responsibility to parent you. With His direction, we do what we do. 

We are crazy about you.

Love, 

Mom

If you give a girl some paper

If your 8 year old daughter has severe ear pain on a Saturday, you might just take her to the after-hours clinic. And while being examined, the doctor may comment on the amount of wax in said daughter's ear. This will probably lead to an hour long session of "let's see if we can get this hardened, packed wax out of her ear so I can see her eardrum." The doctor may even ask multiple times "Are you aboslutely, positively sure you haven't stuck anything in your ear???" After over an hour in the exam room, the doctor will prescribe an antibiotic even though she still can't see the eardrum.

After ten days on antitbiotic, you will take your daughter to her regular pediatrician for a follow-up visit. While looking in her ear, the doctor may comment on the amount of wax in little girl's ear. This will again lead to a few minutes of trying to remove the hardened wax. Once again, you might hear the doctor ask "Is she sure she hasn't stuck anything in her ear?" And you will probably feel like you are experiencing dejavu. Eight year old daughter will answer that she is absolutely, positively sure she has put nothing in her ear. Ever. Never, ever, ever. Until the doctor leaves the room. Then your daughter might say, "Well......maybe, I think, I did put something in there. Hey - that's why I can't hear!!" And after an intense interrogation, you will discover that the 8 year old did indeed stick a piece of paper in her ear. She will probably have no idea when she did this or where or what kind of paper it was or how it got so far into her ear canal. Leading you to wonder if she has suffered amnesia at some point.

The doctor will smile knowingly and begin to tell your daughter how big and brave she is for telling the truth and call her a truth hero. All the while you will be smiling on the outside, but inside you will be screaming "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD, CAN WE NOT MAKE HER OUT TO BE A SUPERSTAR? SHE IS EIGHT YEARS OLD AND STUFFED PAPER IN HER EAR!"

While the doctor attempts to remove the paper from her ear, your daughter will have a nosebleed. Not a quick little drop of blood that is easily cleaned up, but one of the most intense, gushing nosebleeds ever. The nurse will feel extremely sorry for her and offer her hot chocolate, crackers, stickers and Hello Kitty coloring sheets.

Finally, the pediatrician will tell you she cannot rescue the paper and send you to the ENT on the other side of town. On your way to the ENT, your daughter might just smile and proclaim this the "best day ever" because she isn't in school and now has approximately 5.2 billion stickers. You should probably know that this will not make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Once at the ENT, the doctor will see that little girl has had a nosebleed and question you as to why she's never been brought in before now to remedy this. You will stare at him and not answer. After looking in your daughter's ear and confirming what everyone else already knows, he will proceed to numb her nose in preparation for cauterizing the blood vessels. Next, he will finally retrieve three relatively large pieces of disintegrating paper from your daughter's ear. You may think to yourself that you should take a picture to document this moment, but you'll be quickly rushed off to begin phase two of the appointment and never have a chance.

The ENT doctor will cauterize your daughter's nose and then may even tell her to "take it easy for a few days." When she hears this, little girl will turn to you and grin. You will not feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

On the way home, your daughter will ask if she can get in her pajamas and watch movies the rest of the day. You will concede because it is now well into the afternoon, and you need time to sit and process the fact that, once again, your eight year old daughter wins the award for doing something her older brothers would never dare to do.

At the end of the day you may finally crack a smile and slightly laugh to yourself as you write your next blog post in your head. However, you will definitely fall to sleep dreaming of the medical bills you have yet to see - all because of a little piece of paper.

An open letter to birthmothers everywhere

Dear birthmothers everywhere,

I was reminded today that Sunday is "Sanctity of Human Life Sunday" in our churches. And while many churches will show emotional vidoes speaking out against abortion, or have a handout with the latest abortion statistics stuck in the bulletin (only to be thrown on the floor or left behind in the chair), or mention how much God hates abortion (which He does, by the way), probably very, very few will mention you. However, you are never far off in my thoughts.

As an adoptee, I certainly appreciate my own birthmother and her sacrifice. She wasn't married and didn't have the greatest support system. Raising me alone would have been extremely hard. I wasn't what she had asked for. I wasn't conceived the way she hoped her first child would be. I definitely wasn't part of her future plans. Abortion would have been the easy way out. Getting rid of "the problem" would have been the world's answer for her. But, you see, just like the rest of you, she didn't see me as a problem to erase. She saw me as a life that mattered, not something to be thrown away. And I'm forever grateful that she did.

As a mother of biological children, I cannot imagine the sacrifice of giving a child up for adoption. After carrying a child for 9 months, feeling the kicks and movements inside of you. Knowing that this baby - who was infintely more than a wad of tissue at the moment of conception - is part of you. Part of your DNA. Yet, knowing that another woman would be called Mommy. Knowing that you would not raise the one that made you uncomfortable at night, gave you heartburn and swollen ankles, and 25 extra pounds. Then, laboring to deliver this same child. Hearing his first cry. Seeing her smushed, wrinkled, beautiful face, but handing her over to someone else. I just cannot imagine the sacrifice and amount of selflessness that requires. 

As an adoptive mom, I am eternally grateful to a woman I don't know. I look at my feisty Eliana. Her dark eyes that sparkle with each smile. I watch her facial expressions, hear her giggles, see her victories and cry with her in her heartbreak, and I think about her birthmother far away in another country. Does she wonder about her little girl every day? Does she think about what she looks like now? Does she worry if she's safe and happy? I want to tell her, yes! But, more than that, I want to say thank you. Our prayers for a little girl were answered by you. God used you to give us what we longed for. Thank you for seeing her life as one not to be wasted. She is a dynamic, strong-willed little girl who God is going to use in mighty ways. Thank you for your sacrifice. 

Birthmothers, know that you are special. You are loved. Thank you.

On your side,

Rebecca